


one chance to change your fate

by iclaimedtobethebetterbard (foolofaperegrin)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Asexual Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fade to Black, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Nonbinary Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Nonbinary Deceit | Janus Sanders, Other, Pining, Remus being Remus, Secret Relationship, Trans Logic | Logan Sanders, You Have Been Warned, all angst is courtesy of the dragon witch interfering, and the loceit tags are secret relationship and implied sex, dukexiety tags are fake dating and mutual pining and enemies to lovers, everything would be fine if they just talked to thomas and nico, for y'alls clarity while perusing these tags:, if they would just have a simple conversation everything would be fine, loceit basically need to go to horny jail every time they interact, royality tags are forbidden love and mutual pining and secret relationship, the arranged marriage is a contest for the princes' hands, they are frankly being way more dramatic than they need to be, they have the most plot going on around their relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolofaperegrin/pseuds/iclaimedtobethebetterbard
Summary: “—and that, Your Majesties, is why a competition for the princes’ hands must, by law, be held at once.”“WHAT?” Roman demanded.“Are you out of your MIND?” Remus snarled, almost at the same time.--Or: The Dragon Witch arranges a contest to marry Prince Roman and Prince Remus off. The princes and their fathers, King Nico and King Thomas, are not happy about this. Neither is Patton, the gardener boy Roman is in love with whose lack of noble parentage forbids him from entering to win Roman's hand, or Virgil, a young noble forced into the competition by their parents who can't STAND the annoying-yet-handsome Prince Remus.As for Logan and Janus, the princes' best friends? With a pinch of luck, they just might be able to save the day for everyone—if they don't get sidetracked by making out every time they're alone.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Nico Flores & Logic | Logan Sanders, Nico Flores/Thomas Sanders
Comments: 34
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Roman have never liked being told what to do. In this, of all matters, even less so.

“—and that, Your Majesties, is why a competition for the princes’ hands must, by law, be held at once.” 

_“What?”_ Roman demanded. 

“Are you out of your _mind?”_ Remus snarled, almost at the same time. 

The advisor smiled a little too smugly and shrugged. “It is a matter of law; it is out of any of our hands. Terribly unfortunate.” 

“Well,” the princes’ father, King Thomas, said, holding up his hands placatingly. “That’s not such a big deal, is it? We can change the law. I mean, it’s clearly decades out of date anyway! Where did you even find this? I’ve never heard of it in my life.” 

“It was in a back room of the library, Your Majesty,” the advisor said. “Together with other laws and official papers from your grandparents’ time. It had clearly been lost and nearly forgotten.”

“Good riddance to it, too,” Thomas said under his breath. He raised his voice. “Well, as I said, it’s clearly out of date and should certainly be repealed. Thank you for bringing it to our attention so we can do so.” 

The princes’ other father, King Nico, nodded. “I would have assumed this had been repealed about the same time the ban on queer marriages was lifted. Let’s see to it at once.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Majesties,” the advisor said, that nasty smug smile still on his face. “The process for repealing this particular law is in fact written into its text. It’s a process that will take three years at a minimum. In the meantime, the princes are both twenty-one and unmarried, and by law that cannot stand. A contest for their hands must be called within the next two weeks.” 

Thomas and Nico shared a concerned look. 

“Boys,” Nico said to the twins, “would you give us some privacy to discuss this?” 

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Thomas added reassuringly. 

Roman crossed his arms and pressed his lips together, holding himself tense with his shoulders straight as he walked out, his red skirt swishing disapprovingly about his knees, white heels tapping a little harder than was necessary. Remus followed, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his green brocade pants, outright stomping his gleaming black boots on the polished wood floors. 

“This is bullshit,” he burst out the second the throne room doors shut behind the two of them.

Roman nodded, falling into step beside him. “That absolutely _draconian_ advisor—”

“Bitch,” Remus commented helpfully.

Roman made a disapproving face. He didn’t _say_ “language,” but Remus could practically hear it anyway.

“Witch, then.” Remus shrugged. “Hate him either way.” 

“We should call him the Dragon Witch!” Roman suggested.

“What?” Remus blinked at him. 

“You know. Draconian. Witch. Dragon Witch.” 

“I _am_ very tired of pretending I remember all the titles he’s collected,” Remus said thoughtfully. He shrugged. “Sure, we can call him that. Anyway, what were you going to say about him?” 

“I swear he _hates_ us for some reason, he’s always going on about little things we do, you know? But this is taking it to another level.” 

“I’d love to punch his damn face in,” Remus said cheerfully. “Wipe that stupid smirk off it and make him see how it feels when you’re out of control of your own life.” 

Roman shuddered. “I mean, trying to _marry us off?_ Nobody’s had an arranged marriage in, like, a _century._ Papi’s right, this should’ve been repealed years and years ago.” 

“It’s all very well for _you,”_ Remus pointed out, running his hands through the hair at the top of his undercut in frustration. “ _You_ have your little boyfriend—”

“He is _not_ my boyfriend!” Roman snapped. “And I, uh, I don’t know who you’re talking about, anyway,” he added hastily, tossing his own hair, which, while it was as straight and black as Remus’s, was _much_ longer—reaching down just past Roman’s collarbones. 

“Oh, please. Roman, I’m ace, not stupid. Anyone with eyes can see that you want that gardener boy to bend y—”

“I am _literally begging you_ not to finish that sentence,” Roman interrupted, holding up a hand in Remus’s face. “Anyway, Patton is _not_ my boyfriend.” 

“He would be if you said _anything_ about it. You both just keep eye fucking for hours every time we go outside as it is.” 

“That is _not_ what we—ugh! You’re impossible sometimes, you know? Anyway, how would I even go about talking to him about it?”

“What, asking him to date you?” 

“Yes! I mean, what do I say? ‘Hello, Patton, you’re earning your living under my family’s employment and I am _literally in line for the throne of our country,_ would you please freely enter into a romantic relationship with me of your own enthusiastic and consenting will?’ It’s not a good situation to put him in!” 

“Oh. It does sound kind of bad when you put it like that.” 

_“Precisely,”_ Roman snapped. 

“But like, my point is, you have _someone.”_ Remus gestured vaguely. “You could get out of this stupid law thing if it came down to it. And don’t say you couldn’t, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. But _my_ love life is shit right now. What am _I_ supposed to do? Marry Logan to get around marrying a stranger? He’d hate that! _I’d_ hate that! He nags me enough as my personal attendant! He’d be an _awful_ husband!” 

“Wait, now you’re talking about _marriage?”_ Roman looked alarmed. “You think I could just waltz up and _marry_ Patton when we haven’t even _held hands?”_

“No, shut up about your stupid gay crush, _I_ am wallowing now.” Remus pouted dramatically. “I want to figure out all that—” he waved his hands, wrinkling his nose “— _romancy_ shit on my own time. Why can’t the fucking Dragon Witch just leave us alone? It’s not like having a biological child to inherit the throne is an issue anymore! That got sorted _ages_ ago! In, what, our grandparents’ time?” 

“Great-grandparents, I think. But Dad and Papi will sort it out.” Roman still looked worried, hugging himself and chewing on his lip, but he shook himself and gave Remus a smile. “Come on, let’s go find Logan and Janus and tell them we got out of government practice early! I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

***

It was decidedly _not_ fine. 

The Dragon Witch had smugly explained his way around every objection Thomas and Nico had brought up. The law, although nobody had spared it a thought in 70-odd years, was _thoroughly_ set in stone and contained clauses and protections against every eventuality. Every royal child must be wed by their twenty-first birthday, or a contest for their hand had to be begun within three months of said birthday. 

Which didn’t leave a lot of time; the twins had turned twenty-one two and a half months ago. 

Thomas and Nico had _immediately_ begun the first step in repealing the law—even before they left the throne room to break the bad news to the twins—but, as the Dragon Witch had so gleefully pointed out, the process required multiple committees to be formed and multiple hearings to be had, spaced out across certain amounts of time, and each step had to be approved by such and such a margin, and, and, _and._ The clauses and footnotes went on and _on._

The most their fathers could offer them was the small comfort that technically, the contest they were required to hold ended only in betrothal rather than concluding with a wedding. 

“So, we just call the engagements off as soon as the contest is over,” Remus said, perking up. It was the evening, and he and Roman were gathered in their fathers’ sitting room, together with both the princes’ personal servants, Logan and Janus. Thomas and Nico were seated on the thick, fluffy white rug in front of the hearth, while the twins were in two of the armchairs. 

Logan, sitting in the corner of the room in a plainer chair, winced. 

“Oh, not you too!” Remus groaned. “What’s the problem _now?”_

“Well,” Logan said, clearing his throat. “I am certainly no expert in political theory or foreign policy, and Your Majesties, please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but my _understanding_ is that this contest is required to be open to nobility, and only to nobility, from the neighboring kingdoms, yes?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Thomas confirmed, the unhappy line between his eyebrows that hadn’t gone away since this whole mess started deepening as he spoke. 

“What’s that got to do with—oh, fuck, are you going to say something about diplomacy shit?” Remus slouched harder in his chair. 

“Breaking off an engagement to a member of the nobility of a foreign kingdom after making such pomp and ceremony around forming the engagement in the first place… well, it does have a certain _passive aggressive_ political flavor, at least to my mind,” Logan said apologetically.

“Fuck,” Remus commented. 

“That _is_ a concern,” Thomas said, nodding, clearly choosing to ignore Remus’s more colorful comments. “I just—I feel so terrible that we didn’t know about this in time to head this whole disaster off. I’m sorry, boys.”

“You didn’t know,” Roman mumbled. He was curled up in his chair, clearly trying to make himself as small as possible; it was the first time he’d spoken in this entire conversation. His hands were clasped around his knees, his brown skin contrasting against the white fabric of his leggings. He didn’t meet either of their fathers’ eyes as he spoke—his voice was quiet and dejected and horribly _resigned._ It made Remus want to hit something and scream until he made everything better and Roman would go back to his usual bright, bubbly, annoying self. 

But you couldn’t hit a law, and screaming at the Dragon Witch got you grounded, even at twenty-one. And his fathers were so torn up about this already. 

So he just grumbled wordlessly, slouching even further. His legs and butt weren’t even on the chair at all at this point. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Logan giving him a Look, a Look that probably was meant to communicate a lecture on how bad posture was bad for his long-term health, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now. 

“We may not have known, but that doesn’t make this situation less unfair to you,” Nico was saying gently. “Roman, love, you’re allowed to express your feelings. All of them. You don’t have to bottle them up like this.” 

“Yelling about it at _you_ won’t make me feel better,though,” Roman said tearfully. “I’m not mad at _you!”_

Roman’s attendant, Janus—a quiet nonbinary person; Remus was quite fond of them, as the only person better at sassing Roman that he was—put a soothing hand on his arm. They were seated on a stool at Roman’s side, instead of near the door like Logan was. “Perhaps not,” they acknowledged, speaking much more sincerely than usual. “Is shouting at your fathers the _only_ way you can think of to work through your emotions?” Their hair was drawn back in a low ponytail, so the exposed scales on the side of their face gleamed in the firelight, reflecting little spots of orange light onto Roman. 

“I don’t know,” Roman muttered obstinately, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. 

Janus waited expectantly for a moment; when Roman only curled up tighter without speaking anymore, they sighed. “Very well. We can revisit that later, perhaps,” they suggested. 

Nico wordlessly opened his arms, and after a brief pause Roman got up from his armchair and crawled into them. 

Thomas scooted closer to the two of them, beckoning Remus. “Come on. Cuddle pile,” he coaxed as Remus clambered into the empty space between Thomas and Nico. “You’re welcome to join too, Janus, Logan,” he added.

“No, thank you,” Logan said politely. 

“Declining a request from the King himself? How daring of you, Logan. You’re quite the rebel,” Janus commented slyly, giving Logan a challenging smirk as they slid to the ground. They didn’t quite join the cuddle pile, but they did sit by Roman’s feet with their knees drawn up to their chest, within easy reach of him. 

Logan made a short, frustrated noise before regaining his composure. “That’s certainly not my intention,” he said, tone clipped. “I simply prefer to maintain a certain level of professionalism in front of _their Majesties the Kings,_ unlike _some_ people.” 

“What, you don’t see it as professional to tend to the emotional needs of your charge? Weak.” Janus was clearly enjoying themself. 

“Really, Logan, you’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Thomas said before Logan could retort to that. “No pressure, of course, but you two are like family to the boys. You can act as informally as you’d like around us. We don’t mind.” 

“With respect, Your Majesty, I _absolutely cannot do that,”_ Logan said, a look of mild horror on his face at the very idea, his back ramrod-straight.

Remus cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boo, you emotionally constipated whore,” he called over to Logan. 

Logan’s expression went even more formal and polite, but he still managed to send Remus quite an intimidating glare using just his eyes. 

“That was not appropriate, Remus,” Thomas put in on Logan’s behalf when it became clear Logan wasn’t going to say anything. 

“Fine, whatever, sorry.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Boo, you emotionally constipated wizard.” Logan _was_ a wizard, he’d gotten certified three years ago, so Remus figured that was safe territory. 

“I’m very sorry for disappointing you, Your Highness,” Logan said stiffly, not meeting his eyes. 

Shit. Logan _never_ called him ‘Your Highness’ unless he was _actually_ upset. “I’m sorry, Lo. Really,” Remus said quickly. “You don’t have to.” 

Logan gave him a single nod of acknowledgement, relaxing somewhat. 

Thomas and Nico exchanged another look over the twins’ heads. 

“Actually,” Thomas said, “unless there’s anything else of significance we need to cover, I think we can say you two are free to go for the evening if you’d like. It’s getting late and I’m sure tomorrow is going to be rough on us all.” 

“As _Your_ _Majesties_ please,” Janus drawled. They took Roman’s hand and made a show of kissing it in the most formal manner possible. “My Lord.” They unfolded, clambering to their feet and crossing the room; their tall, thin frame was emphasized next to Logan, who was stockily built with plenty of comfortable pudge. 

Roman’s lips twitched in a small, amused smile at the dramatic formality. “Goodnight, Janus.” 

“Goodnight, Remus,” Logan said, pointedly ignoring the smirk Janus was giving him. 

“Night, Lo,” Remus called, snuggling closer to Thomas. 

Logan opened the door and held it for Janus, lips twisted up in a disapproving frown. “You’re _unbearable_ sometimes, you do realize that?” he said in a tone probably meant to be low enough that the royal family couldn’t hear it. 

“Sometimes? How dreadful. I’m aiming for all the time,” Janus retorted with an airy laugh as the heavy door swung shut behind the pair. 

Remus sometimes wondered if there was some sort of bad blood between Janus and Logan to fuel their constant verbal sparring these last few years—but he was pretty sure he would know if something serious had happened. It seemed to be just petty personal dislike, as far as he could tell. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Roman choking out, “It’s just not _fair!”_

“No. It’s not. I’m _so_ sorry, Roman,” Thomas said, reaching over to press Roman’s hand. 

“We’re going to figure out a solution. I promise. But right now it’s okay to be sad or scared or whatever you need to be,” Nico said, pressing a kiss to the top of Roman’s head and reaching to ruffle Remus’s hair. 

Remus closed his eyes and let his family hold him. 

***

Logan and Janus fell silent after the door closed behind them; they walked side by side down the corridor, heading towards the fourth floor, where the highest-ranking servants were housed. 

“Well. Today was certainly… something,” Janus commented at last, reaching halfway across the space between them and offering their hand. 

Logan looked over at them, stepping closer and easily sliding his hand into theirs, his warm olive skin several shades darker than Janus’s pale skin. “You can say that again. I’ve never seen Remus look so _lost.”_

“Roman cried to me three times this afternoon. Once about the competition as a concept, and twice about how he thinks it’s going to ruin any chance he has with Patton.” Janus intertwined their fingers with Logan’s, raising his hand to their lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “God, I’m not looking forward to this.” 

Logan sighed. “Me neither. Let’s put it aside until the morning? There’s not much we can do about it at this point. And we _are_ off duty now.” 

“Hm, just so,” Janus said, a smile creeping onto their face. “You should kiss me.” 

“Out in the open like this?” Logan looked scandalized. “Janus, anyone could see!” 

“Our charges and their fathers are occupied at the moment, and it’s not like anyone else would recognize us—”

“They absolutely would, as companions to the princes ours are some of the most recognizable faces in the kingdom, we _literally_ have our portraits on the walls—”

“—oh, fine, but it’s not like anyone would _care._ Your whole hangup about maintaining professional behavior doesn’t apply when we’re off duty.” Janus pouted and made puppy dog eyes. _“Please,_ love?” They reached over and ran a finger down Logan’s wide nose before pressing it to his lips. 

Logan closed his eyes, failing to keep a smile off his face at the pet name. “Oh, very well,” he agreed, opening his eyes and tugging Janus into one of the window alcoves set every so often into the stone walls. He pressed them against the wall, reached up, and cupped their cheek in his hand, gazing up into their eyes with an unabashed adoration that made Janus’s heart _ache_ in equal parts satisfaction and hunger. 

“Logan,” Janus murmured after a moment.

“Hm?” he responded, rubbing his thumb back and forth along their cheekbone in a way that was _very_ distracting. 

“You aren’t kissing me, darling.” 

“Ah. Right.” Logan studied Janus’s eyes for a heartbeat or two more, then leaned up and connected their lips, his hand on their face sliding a little further back to caress the corner of their jaw. His other hand rested on their waist, moving to the small of their back and drawing them closer to him as he deepened the kiss. 

Janus relaxed into his arms and kissed back, slow and soft, twining one hand in Logan’s tight brown curls and letting the other rest on his chest, trapped between them. They sighed into the kiss, a soft noise of satisfaction, drawing a pleased hum from Logan in return as he nipped at their bottom lip. 

Janus pressed closer and kissed harder, wanting more, more, _more—_ but Logan broke the kiss and drew back just slightly, both his hands now clasped around their waist. 

“This _is_ a rather open location,” he said when Janus gave him a _very_ put-upon look. “Care to continue this in my quarters?” 

Janus sighed, resting their head on his shoulder. “Well, if you _insist,_ darling, I suppose that wouldn’t be too troubling.” 

“You dramatic thing,” Logan said, pressing a kiss to the scales on their cheek and smiling. 

Janus gasped, clutching their heart. “Dramatic? _Me?_ You wound me, my love.” 

Logan shrugged, his arms still around them. “I’m only saying, for all your dramatics every time I ask you to my bed, the last time you actually slept in your own room was more than a year ago.” 

“Fourteen months, but who’s counting?” Janus shrugged, examining their fingernails. “They simply gave you a _much_ softer bed, I don’t know what other motivation I could possibly have.” 

“Falsehood,” Logan said, his amusement plain to hear, taking them by the hand and drawing them back out into the hallway. “Come along, dear.” 

Since _apparently_ Logan’s lips were off-limits for the moment, Janus spent the rest of the journey to Logan’s chambers pressing kisses to his hand instead, doing their best to kiss each of the countless freckles that dotted it, hardly paying attention to where they were walking until they came to a stop outside the door to Logan’s suite. 

“I need my hand back, Janus,” Logan said patiently. 

“Never,” Janus said, pressing one final kiss to it before relinquishing it. Logan rummaged in his pockets and pulled out his keyring to open the door.

“Is there some kind of spell for locking and unlocking?” Janus inquired, leaning against the wall, tipping their head back, and staring at the high, arched ceiling of the corridor. “One that uses words? So you could hold my hand forever instead of using it for silly things like keys?” 

“Is it really such a hardship to let go of me for a few seconds?” Logan asked, lips quirking in a small smile, taking both of their hands in his and drawing them through the door. 

_“Yes,”_ Janus answered, leaning in and pressing a smattering of pecked kisses to Logan’s round, freckled cheeks and his soft lips as he pushed the door shut behind them. 

He caught their mouth in a proper kiss, wrapping his sturdy arms around them and pulling them close; he was warm and solid and _perfect,_ and Janus never failed to melt when he held them so _tenderly_ and with such _focus,_ like they were the only thing in the world truly worth his attention.

Sometimes—often. Daily. Hourly, of late—Janus thought that they would be more than happy to call Logan their husband. At twenty-three and twenty-four, they were both of an age for it, and they’d been together for three years already. If the way he was currently kissing them like he could find the whole universe mapped on their lips was any indication, Logan would likely be more than amenable to the idea. 

“You,” Logan breathed between kisses, “are wearing _far_ too many clothes.”

“I could say the same of you, darling,” Janus responded, running a finger along the line where Logan’s collar met the bare skin of his neck. “Let me braid my hair, I hate when it tangles.” 

When it came to the idea of marriage there was only the problem, Janus mused as they sat on the end of the bed and went about divesting themself of their shirt and putting their brown hair into a braid, that it would be difficult—not to mention undesirable—to get married without involving the princes in some way. Janus and Logan had both been hired when the twins were thirteen, and had lived in the palace ever since. This was by no means a hardship. Getting paid to be someone’s friend and keep him out of trouble was, in Janus’s humble opinion, a pretty sweet deal, and the princes were very endearing people. The day they’d been hired, the kings had even paid to have the finest mages money could hire break the curse Janus had sported for much of their childhood—and the matching curse placed on their dad. 

It was a dream come true, honestly; before they’d been hired at the palace, Janus’s job prospects outside of their dad’s bakery had seemed pretty limited. They were the bastard child of a noblewoman and a commoner, which made their social standing… very difficult to figure out. Janus was _pretty_ sure that _technically,_ they counted as noble and had a title, but it really depended on who you asked. And they’d grown up with their dad, anyway, as their mother hadn’t really had all that much interest in a child; this worked out well, in Janus’s opinion, as _they_ didn’t have all that much interest in a distant mother. But when Janus had been five, their mother’s new husband—a nobleman at least twice as stuffy as she was, which was saying something—just _had_ to go and hire someone on the black market to curse Janus _and_ their dad. (And what had been the _point_ of that, anyway? Jealousy? The man hadn’t even _met_ Janus’s mother yet when Janus was conceived! Really, it was extraordinarily petty of him.) But the damage was done, and it was a high-quality curse, one that Janus’s dad _really_ couldn’t afford to get reversed, so for ten years, the two of them had found ways to live with and work around it. 

When Janus was fifteen, word had gotten out that the kings were looking for attendants for their sons, and Janus’s mother, for all her flaws, had been willing to give them the letter of recommendation that got them in the door to the first interview. Roman, for some reason, had taken a liking to their snark and sass right away, and they’d made it through five rounds of interviews to become the top applicant. 

What always seemed the most unfathomable to Janus was that the kings didn’t seem to care about the reputation a curse of lies gave someone. The one time they’d worked up enough courage to ask, King Thomas had pointed out that when Janus was cursed to only speak in lies, they were technically being more honest than the average person, if you looked at it a certain way; lying was optional for everyone else, so it could be much harder to parse other people’s lies from their truths. He’d also said that Janus had been quite adept at working around the curse to communicate what they wanted to. That was true; Janus had found that using a sarcastic tone helped get their point across when they couldn’t outright say what they really meant, and even now that the curse was gone and Janus could say whatever they pleased, they still tended towards sarcasm out of force of habit. 

“Besides,” King Thomas had said in that same conversation, giving them an amused glance, “you’ve never given us reason to doubt your integrity. I wouldn’t leave just anyone alone with my sons, Janus. I trust you.” And, with those three words that had shaken Janus to the core— _I trust you,_ spoken simply and unflinchingly, like he really _meant_ it—he and King Nico had seemed to leave it at that. But it couldn’t be _that_ simple—could it? Nobody else let it be that simple. One didn’t get cursed for ten years without it leaving an impact on the way others saw them. 

The scales, for instance. The scales had stayed. Janus and their dad had both been cursed by the man their stepfather had hired, but their dad had gotten the worst of it; he’d been covered in scales from head to toe in addition to the lie-speak. Janus had only been _intentionally_ cursed with lie-speak, but they’d sprouted scales all down their left side for some unknown reason; the magical healer they’d consulted had shaken her head and said it looked like a byproduct of the curse on their dad. Apparently sometimes curses had strange side effects that could spill over to blood relations. Since Janus’s scales hadn’t been an intended part of either curse, they’d just… stayed. Even after the curses were broken and their dad’s scales had vanished like they’d never been there. Janus didn’t particularly mind the scales—they’d had them since they were five years old, after all—but they did mind the way people still whispered when they went home to their dad and helped out in the bakery. 

Not that Janus didn’t love their dad and his bakery, but they much preferred life in the palace, where Roman never hesitated to give a thorough dressing-down to anyone who so much as looked at his friend wrong, and Janus was _trusted_ by default. Janus would hardly consider doing something as big as _getting married_ without at least _telling_ Roman about it. 

But that was where the problem came in; neither Roman nor Remus was aware that Janus and Logan were an item. 

It had started out simply enough—they’d been flirting back and forth for a month or two when Logan brought up that perhaps it was best to not let it interfere with their duties as personal attendants to the princes. This had seemed reasonable at the time. But, Janus being Janus, they simply _had_ to get a little cheeky sometimes and make teasing comments to Logan in front of the princes. They both laughed about them later, and Logan began coming up with retorts, until they were staging full-scale dramatic arguments. It was, frankly, one of the most enjoyable games Janus had played in a long time. 

However, this had given Roman and Remus the idea that Janus and Logan didn’t enjoy each other’s company. So, naturally, about a month after Logan and Janus officially got together, they decided to see how long they could keep this up without the princes realizing. It had seemed like a funny idea at the time. It still did, as a matter of fact. Janus was _very_ much looking forward to the look on Roman’s face whenever he finally pieced it together. 

There was just the detail of this little facade now getting in the way of any ideas about marriage. Ideas that Janus might or might not spend hours daydreaming about. Logan would look so handsome in wedding regalia, after all, could you blame them for imagining it sometimes? (He’d look handsomer _out_ of it the night after, kissing Janus’s new wedding band possessively or pinning them to a wedding bed, but that was neither here nor there.) 

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asked softly, breaking Janus out of their reverie. He cupped their face in his hands, studying them with an unreserved attention in his brown eyes. 

Janus gave him a half-smile. “You,” they said, since it was true enough. Always him. “Things I’d like to do together,” they added demurely. 

_That_ certainly caught Logan’s attention. “What sort of things?” he inquired, pulling them a little closer. 

Janus laughed as they easily climbed to straddle his lap. They trailed their hand down his bare chest, lingering about the transition scars he was so proud of—they were years old now, and faded, but still noticeable, a little smoother than the skin surrounding them. _“Well…”_ they breathed into his ear. They might not be about to confess they wanted to marry him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to get a _very_ detailed answer to his question.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is tired of all this nonsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, all! There were some technology issues that kept me from being able to finish edits to this chapter for a while. 
> 
> Everyone say thank you to my amazing beta @yougoodfahm on tumblr!!
> 
> Content warning for this chapter: Logan and Janus briefly discuss a stranger who, off the page, accidentally misgendered Janus. This is toward the end of the chapter.

The next two weeks were a bustle of preparations. Announcements had to be made. Invitations had to be sent. Rules and regulations around entry into the competition had to be drawn up—the twins were at least able to insist that women could not compete for their hands and that contestants had to be under 25, a small win that Logan knew tasted bitter in their mouths. Messengers had to be sent to every major city in the kingdom and the nearest five other kingdoms to deliver the invitations and announcements. Places for contestants to stay had to be prepared; an entire wing of the castle was cleared out and set aside. Space for the tasks of the competition had to be created. Extra guards had to be hired, as well as space for whatever entourages the contestants would bring with them. The royal family, as well as Janus and Logan, were regularly up until all hours of the night. And every step of the way, the Dragon Witch had to be argued with; whatever the twins tried to do, it was all but certain he would be opposed to it, brandishing the scroll with the law written out in excruciating detail to back himself up. 

“I want to burn that stupid parchment,” Remus grumbled to Logan one afternoon. “Can’t marry me off if there’s no law saying we have to.” They’d finally gotten a break from the endless meetings Remus—and Logan, by association—had to attend, and had made a beeline back to the princes’ quarters to relax. Remus was sprawled on the couch in his and Roman’s shared sitting room, feet planted defiantly on the cushions, his long black skirt pooled about himself. Logan was seated at a low table near the couch with a sketchbook, positioned just beyond Remus’s head at such an angle that Remus couldn’t see the drawings. Janus tended to comprise much of Logan’s subject matter, when he wasn’t drawing for spells, and it simply wouldn’t do for Remus to see how much Logan had drawn them. 

While taking time to relax was undoubtedly needed, Logan noted that Remus fixating so angrily on the _cause_ of his need for relaxation seemed less than ideal. He sighed, looking up from the shading work he was doing. “I understand that your statement is likely rhetorical and intended as an expression of emotion rather than literal action—”

“No, I would very much like to literally set it on fire and burn it up, I think it would be very therapeutic, but go on.”

“—but I feel the need to point out that dwelling on your problem like this will not do anything to make it go away.” Logan set down his pencil and closed the sketchbook. “It will only make you feel worse.” 

“I _know,”_ Remus snapped. “And I’m sure the fucking Dragon Witch has plenty of copies of it anyway, so it’s not like it would even _do_ anything.” 

Remus had seized onto the nickname he and Roman had come up with with a vengeance; this had the unfortunate side effect that Logan, now used to hearing the man referred to as “Dragon Witch,” had come very close to accidentally calling the advisor such to his face on more than one occasion now. He thanked his lucky stars that so far, his instinct of basic self-preservation had saved him from the painful awkwardness such an accident would incur.

“But like,” Remus continued, gesturing for emphasis as he spoke. “I want to rip it out of his hands and tear it to pieces and stomp them into the ground and burn them up and then blow the ashes in his face and watch him choke on them and—” 

“I hear you,” Logan interrupted. From the angle he was at, he couldn’t see Remus’s face, but he could observe the way Remus’s hands had started to shake as he gestured and his voice got rougher and more ragged as he spoke. 

“I _hate_ him,” Remus choked out, strangling a sob. “I hate the way he keeps controlling me and I want it to _stop._ I just want to get left _alone_ for once.” 

As if on the worst cue possible, there was a knock on the door. “Prince Remus?” a voice called. 

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” Remus snarled, pushing himself up on one elbow, hastily wiping his eyes, and seizing a throw pillow from beside himself. 

A servant opened the door and stepped in with a formal bow. Logan glanced habitually at the servant’s wrist for pronouns; the color of the thin stripe on the right wrist of the uniform—green—indicated he/him. Judging by his uniform, with all the lace and frills about the collar and cuffs, he was a footman. Probably here bearing a message from someone higher up. Damn it all. This was exactly what Remus _didn’t_ need right now.

“Your Highness, your presence is required in—” the servant began. 

Remus hurled the pillow at the man, hitting him in the face. 

_“Remus!”_ Logan snapped, on his feet before he’d even thought about it. 

Remus’s lips worked soundlessly for a moment before he pressed them together and shook his head, curling in on himself, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

Logan sighed and crossed the room; he retrieved the pillow off the floor. “Please relay the message that Prince Remus is indisposed and will take some rest this afternoon,” he said to the footman. “I’m terribly sorry about….” He gestured at the pillow. “The misunderstanding.” 

“I was told it’s rather urgent—” the footman began. 

Behind Logan, Remus let out a short, sharp scream of fury and threw something; it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter. 

“Please excuse me a moment, Your Highness,” Logan said smoothly, waving the footman outside to the hallway, following him, and closing the door. “Requiring the prince to attend further events today is a fruitless endeavor,” he said brusquely. “Prince Remus—and his brother too, for that matter—have been harassed about this competition all week. Today he has already sat through five meetings at which his presence was by no means necessary, and he is under a great deal of stress. _The prince is indisposed,_ and he will be _unable_ to attend further events today for anything less than a royal command, personally delivered by his fathers. Do I make myself clear?” Logan’s height—or lack thereof; transition spells didn’t do much to bone structure, and he was firmly stuck at 5’5”—made it hard to appear as intimidating as he’d like to, but he stared the man down nevertheless. 

The footman tried to hold his gaze, but was the first to look away. “I’ll let them know, sir.” 

“Thank you,” Logan said, trying not to sound too relieved; Remus was so far past the end of his tether already, and Logan was doing his best not to wind up in the same state. He glanced at the guards positioned nearby. “Those instructions apply to you as well. Nobody but the kings are to enter Their Highnesses’ rooms for the rest of the day, for any reason.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the guards acknowledged, bowing his head. 

As the footman departed, Logan let himself back into the princes’ quarters. “He’s gone,” he said. He crossed to the couch—Remus was now sitting with his legs splayed out in front of himself on the floor, staring at the candlestick he’d thrown at the wall—and replaced the throw pillow. “I told him that you weren’t to be disturbed for the rest of the day except by your fathers. But you can’t throw things at people.” 

“I know,” Remus said, sounding ashamed. “I didn’t mean it to hit him. I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t’ve.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “’M sorry,” he mumbled.

Logan sighed and lowered himself to sit beside Remus. “What about finding Roman and taking him down to the training grounds to work some of your aggression out on each other?” he suggested. Roman was no doubt moping in his own way just as badly, wherever he was; letting the two spar would be a practical solution. Not to mention that Logan and Janus would get a break from trying to help the princes manage their emotions. 

“He’s in the _gardens,”_ Remus said, a particular flavor of disgust to his voice. 

“Ah,” Logan said. Perhaps Roman wasn’t moping after all, in that case. “Well. You can still ask, can’t you?” He would really, _really_ like a break, ideally one where he could see Janus. 

“I guess,” Remus said with a sigh. He didn’t move to get up. 

“I’d suggest changing into something more practical first,” Logan said when the pause dragged on; Remus’s black shirt had wide bell sleeves and his floor-length skirt—while it lent itself well to Remus draping himself on the furniture, like he’d spent all his free time so far today doing—wasn’t something one ought to spar in. 

“Fine,” Remus mumbled, hiking up the skirt and climbing to his feet at last. He headed to his wing of the suite he and Roman shared. 

Remus took a solid half an hour changing. Logan had enough time to tidy the mess Remus had made of the sitting room _and_ to finish his sketch—a closeup of a patch of scales on the inside of Janus’s left wrist, drawn from memory—before Remus reemerged in another all-black getup. 

His choice of colors was hardly surprising. The twins had tended to dress in opposite colors from each other ever since they were children—they’d picked up the habit from their fathers, whose outfits regularly cycled through the entire rainbow, always in complementary colors to each other. Roman and Remus had put their own twist on this idea by tending to wear some combination of black, white, and either red or green. While it was a trend they’d followed for as long as Logan had known them, they didn’t stick to it as consistently as their parents did. To see the kings _not_ dressed in some pair of complementary colors or another? That was a rare sight indeed. But the twins’ matching clothing varied, from full outfits to only an accessory or sometimes nothing at all. 

However, in the days since the competition had been announced, Roman and Remus had clung to this habit with a vengeance, hardly a day going by that they didn’t dress entirely in complementing colors. Today, if Logan’s memory served him, Roman had worn a creamy white suit with a subtle white floral pattern embroidered into it; Remus’s dramatic ensemble was only to be expected. This outfit, however, was much better for sparring than his last one had been. His new shirt and pants were tight-fitting enough to be practical, but loose enough to allow him free movement, and the top of his undercut was gelled back so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes.

“Very nice,” Logan commented. “Shall we be off?”

“Whatever,” Remus grumbled. “Sure. I guess.” 

“Excellent. After you.” Logan held the door and followed Remus out and towards the nearest stairway. 

“He’s just going to be flirting with Patton while they both pretend they aren’t flirting, and he’s not going to want to do anything else,” Remus complained as they descended the stairs, a bodyguard trailing behind them at a discreet distance. 

“You don’t know that,” Logan said. It came out halfhearted. 

“Oh, don’t I?” Remus asked darkly. 

They found Roman in the rose garden, seated on a marble bench amid the flowers together with someone who, even from a distance, Logan could tell was indeed Janus’s stepbrother Patton. Logan spent enough time at Janus’s family bakery on his days off that he easily recognized Patton’s large hooked nose and the way he tilted his head to one side when he was paying attention to something. 

Janus was leaning with their elbows on a nearby birdbath, positioned in a patch of warm sunlight, looking bored out of their mind. Logan allowed himself to gaze at them for the briefest of moments; they were wearing a simple yellow dress, with elbow-length sleeves and a square neckline, the full skirt reaching just past their knees. Their brown hair was pinned up in a low twist, and there was the lightest touch of rouge on the pale skin of their right cheek. They looked… ethereal, he decided, was a good word, and he made a mental note to tell them so later before turning his attention to Roman. 

Roman and Patton were deep in conversation, leaning towards one another and clearly lost in each others’ eyes, their faces perhaps six inches apart. Patton had deep brown skin; his dark, wavy hair was tied back—it was just long enough to make a tiny ponytail; normally it hung loose around his face or was done half-up. He was looking at Roman with adoration clear to see in his large, deep-set brown eyes, a smile sitting on his face like he didn’t even know it was there. Roman had a small bouquet of flowers in his lap, tied with the same blue ribbon used for packages at the bakery Janus and Patton’s fathers ran together. 

Remus gestured at them, glancing to Logan for validation with a sour look on his face. Logan decided it was in his best interest not to comment on the situation either way. 

“Prince Roman,” he said instead, clearing his throat. 

Roman and Patton jumped away from each other like Logan’s words had been a physical blow. Patton, in fact, scrambled to his feet and seized his discarded basket of garden tools off the ground, while Roman whipped around to look at Logan and Remus. Janus smothered a laugh, covering their mouth with their hand. 

“What?” Roman asked, a tad breathless, not acknowledging anything that had just happened. 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Wanna come fight?” he said, hefting an imaginary weapon to illustrate. “Logan thinks it’ll keep me from wallowing in self-pity or some bullshit like that.” 

“Glad to hear what you think of my desire for your wellbeing,” Logan said dryly. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll appreciate you later,” Remus said, waving his comment away. “I’m just very busy being miserable right _now,_ you see. Hey, Roman. Rooooman. Roooooo—” 

“Yes, fine, we can go for a round or two,” Roman interrupted as Remus’s singsong grew longer and more annoying. “I’m sure Logan’s right.” 

“Oh, yay!” Remus visibly perked up. 

“I’ll be off, then,” Patton said, just a tad dejected. “Very nice speaking with you, Ro—Your Highness.” 

“Oh—” Roman looked disappointed, gazing at Patton in distress. 

“Why don’t you come along to watch?” Logan suggested. “The princes can always use a neutral moderator.” 

“Neutral, my ass,” Remus mumbled under his breath.

Logan gave him a warning glare, and he shut up. 

“Oh—I—well—if it pleases Your Highnesses,” Patton said, fidgeting with the handle of his basket, clearly trying not to seem too eager in front of Remus. 

“It does _not_ please My Highness, but fine, whatever, come stare at Roman’s abs for an hour, see if I care,” Remus said with a gusty sigh.

Patton downright _squeaked,_ averting his eyes from the group. 

“Must you be so _crass?”_ Roman demanded, sounding flustered himself at Patton’s reaction. “Please don’t be rude to Patton.” 

“Absolutely I must, brother dearest, you know how I love annoying you.” Remus gave Roman a toothy smile. “Come on.” He turned on his heel and headed off at a brisk pace in the direction of the training grounds. 

Patton took a brief detour to tell the Head Gardener that the princes required his service and to drop off his tools before catching up with Janus and Logan, who were walking a little ways behind the princes. Roman and Remus were already engaged in lively conversation with each other. 

“You’re welcome for getting you off work,” Janus said as Patton fell into step between them and Logan. 

“Oh, come now, spoiling my chance to say thank you?” Patton offered Janus one of his strong arms, and they comfortably leaned on him. “I was going to thank Logan, actually, since it was, you know, his idea.” 

“You’re very welcome, of course,” Logan said over Janus’s indignant scoffing. 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good—now, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing us just a _tiny_ little favor in return?” Janus asked Patton. 

Patton gave Janus an exasperated look that said that he knew _exactly_ what Janus was about to ask. But all he said aloud was, “I’m always happy to help you out, Jan.” 

Janus gave him a smile that Logan was pretty sure Remus would describe as “shit-eating.” “You’re such a good brother. Would it be _terribly_ bothersome for you to—” 

“Let you know when they’re done so they don’t walk in on you acting like the lovebirds you are?” Patton finished, sounding tired. 

“Yes, exactly.” Janus didn’t let up on the grin. “You’re such a dear.” 

“You could just _tell_ them,” Patton said.

Janus examined their fingernails, pursing their lips. _“You_ could just tell Roman how you feel about hi—”

“I’ll let you know when they’re done,” Patton interrupted. 

“ _So_ kind of you,” Janus purred. They paused, a more serious look coming over their face. “You should talk to him about it, though. And soon.” 

Patton hesitated, chewing his lip. “I know… I don’t want to add more to his plate right now, you know? Besides, I don’t think Remus likes me much. I wouldn’t want to come between brothers. Not now. Not when they’re so important to each other.” 

“Remus’s animosity towards you is more about his feelings towards the… well.” Logan waved his hand, not saying _the competition_ . “It’s not about you. I assure you, the way he treated you before receiving… _that_ news was quite friendly, for him.” 

Patton looked concerned by this assessment. This was fair; to Logan’s understanding, Patton and Remus would define “friendly behaviour” in _wildly_ differing ways that all but contradicted each other. 

Roman, up ahead of them, let out a shout; the armory building and training ground had just come into view, and Remus had slapped Roman on the shoulder in an impromptu tag and taken off running. Roman set off in hot pursuit. The princes raced each other, close to a tie, each one taking the lead in turn, until Remus stumbled to a halt at the door of the armory and let out a cheer as Roman, perhaps two paces behind, slammed into him. 

The twins stared at each other, panting, for a moment, and then both burst into laughter just as the others caught up to them. 

“I win,” Remus said, poking Roman in the side.

Roman stuck his tongue out at him. “Oh, shut up.” 

Remus grinned and poked him more, following as Roman tried to dodge. “I win I win I win I win I—”

“I _know,_ shut _up_ about it!” Roman said with a small laugh, batting Remus’s hand away. “Janus?” he asked, turning away from Remus. “Can you braid my hair?” 

“Have you got a ribbon to tie it off?” Janus inquired. 

Roman looked dismayed. “Oh.” 

“Here,” Logan said, pulling one of Janus’s hair ribbons out of his pocket and passing it to Roman. 

“Where did you get _that?”_ Remus demanded, looking bewildered. 

“On the table in your sitting room,” Logan fibbed with a shrug. In reality, he’d pulled it right out of Janus’s hair, teasing them, and then proceeded to get so distracted that he’d forgotten to give it back; it had stayed tucked in his pocket for the last day and a half. “Very irresponsible of you, leaving it lying about,” he told Janus sternly. 

Janus clutched their heart and feigned a dramatic swoon, closing their eyes and falling backwards towards Patton without so much as glancing to see if he was paying attention. Perhaps they’d done this before, as Patton jumped to catch them well before there was any danger of them hitting the ground. Janus opened their eyes and smirked at Logan. “Oh, woe is me, I left a practical item in my workplace for an hour. You’re right, how _terribly_ irresponsible of me.” They sighed as Patton, shaking his head in exasperation, set them back on their feet. “Next thing you know, I’ll leave Roman unattended in front of a foreign dignitary and his terrible sense of humor will start a war.” 

“Hey!” Roman and Patton protested in the same breath, while Remus snickered. 

Logan folded his arms and gave Janus an unimpressed look. “Are you done?” 

“Never,” they replied, sounding distracted, beckoning Roman close and pulling his hair back; the braid they tied was quickly done, yet neat and tight, one that wouldn’t unravel in a hurry. “There you go, have fun getting bested by your brother—I mean, good luck, I have every faith in your prowess on the battlefield.” They smirked and shooed Roman toward his twin as he spluttered at them. 

“You all go on ahead, I need to discuss some logistics with Janus that were brought up this morning,” Logan said. 

“Now?” Janus played along, sounding dismayed. 

“Yes, they’re urgent, which you would know if you’d been paying attention in the meeting.” 

“Alright, well, you two have fun with that,” Roman said, making a face; he and Remus disappeared into the armory. Patton, after giving Logan and Janus a _very_ unimpressed look, followed. 

“So, about those _logistics?”_ Janus inquired, slinking closer to Logan with a smirk. 

Logan took their hand and led them to a bench set against the wall of the building. “We _do_ need to talk about how to get the twins to behave civilly to the contestants.” 

“Bribery,” Janus responded without hesitation. “Now kiss me.”

“Wh—no, we can’t just—”

“Fine.” Janus shrugged. “Bribery... _and_ lectures. But mostly bribery. Roman has an _incorrigible_ sweet tooth, and you surely know what Remus likes. Now, I do believe I haven’t been kissed in _hours,_ and it is a downright sin on your part to let that stand.” 

Logan sighed, leaning in and kissing them once. “Darling, please be serious.” 

“I am perfectly serious. Roman will do _anything_ if I promise him enough chocolate.” Janus caught Logan by the chin and drew him back in for another kiss. 

Logan allowed himself to get lost in the kiss for just a minute, wrapping an arm around Janus’s waist and pulling them close against his chest, nudging their lips apart with his tongue; they made a sound of satisfaction into his mouth, and he kissed them more fiercely, relishing the way they melted in his arms. 

He remembered himself after a moment and pulled away, although the noise of disappointment Janus made left him wanting nothing more than to kiss them again, and again and again, until disappointment was the furthest thing from their mind. “I’m not accepting bribery as our final solution.” 

Janus sighed and scooted over to sit in his lap with their head resting on his shoulder. “Fine, but it _will_ wind up being the most effective one, wait and see.” 

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of their head. “I’m sure we’re more than clever enough to come up with a better option,” he coaxed.

“Hmm, nope. I’m thinking about it, and I _still_ think the best way to get Roman to cooperate with anything, _ever,_ is to bribe him with chocolate.” 

“That… that _cannot_ be how you get all your work done.” 

“No, but it’s the quickest, easiest, and most effective way. I’m very fond of it. You should try it.” Janus gave Logan a brilliant smile. 

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. If Remus gets it into his head that he’ll be _rewarded_ for capricious behavior in any capacity, I will _never_ be able to get him to compromise with me ever again.” 

“We all have our ways,” Janus said with a shrug. “You work hard. I resort to underhanded means. In the end, we get similar results.” 

“This is nowhere near as amusing as you seem to find it, dear,” Logan informed them.

“Then why are you smiling?” they challenged, grinning up at him. 

“Because—” Logan began, then stopped, trying to figure out an answer. 

Janus began to smirk, clearly thinking they’d won, which wouldn’t do at all. Logan hated to cheat, but sometimes they really did force his hand.

“Because I love you,” he told them. 

Janus’s eyes—one a soft, mossy green, the other bright lime with a slit, snakelike pupil—went wide, suddenly soft and vulnerable, and if Logan weren’t so close he might have missed their tiny intake of breath. “That’s not _fair,”_ they whispered. 

“But it’s true,” Logan said, smoothing a stray wisp of Janus’s hair behind their ear. 

Janus whined, turning to hide their face in his neck. “You’re ruining my reputation,” they complained.

Logan smiled. “I love you,” he whispered once more into their hair. 

_“Stop,”_ they protested, making fists in the fabric of his shirt and clinging to him. 

Logan chuckled. “Loving you? Never,” he promised, running his hand in soothing strokes up and down their back. 

“I l—love you, too,” Janus whispered into his neck after a moment. 

Logan pressed a kiss to their temple. “Mmhm?” he said encouragingly. 

Janus nodded, relaxing somewhat. 

They’d talked about this before. Janus had assured him that they liked hearing it, and that they didn’t feel like he was ever pressuring them to say it back, and that they only said it when they wanted to. Logan trusted their word, of course; and any lingering worries he might have had about their discomfort were eased by the easy, eager way Janus traded any other imaginable form of verbal affection with him. It was only the phrase “I love you” that reduced them to a stammering, nervous state like this. 

(“I think it’s because I—I do,” Janus had told him late one night, sitting criss-cross on the bed, holding one of his hands in theirs and tracing lines on his palm with their finger. He’d waited without speaking so they could take their time; he knew how hard it could be for them to let their walls down. “I do. So much. I think it scares me to say it because of how _true_ it is. And I’m not… not used to hearing it, I guess. My dad doesn’t like to say it. I don’t know.” They’d glanced up through their lashes at him. “It’s good when you say it, though. Really good.”)

(Logan had decided he should remind them he loved them as often as possible after that conversation.) 

The pair of them sat there for a moment, Logan rubbing little circles at the base of one of Janus’s shoulder blades. 

“How has your day been?” he asked after Janus’s breath had evened out somewhat. 

“Tiresome,” Janus responded at once, clearly on more comfortable footing. “I’m glad Patton got me a break before you came down. You?” 

“Much the same. Remus threw something at a footman.” 

Janus frowned. “He hasn’t done that in—”

“Years, yes. I figured it was best to get him and Roman onto the training ground before he accidentally hurt someone.” 

“Makes sense,” Janus said. They paused. “I… got called a lady this morning. Which was a first.” 

Logan’s arms tightened around them protectively, though he did his best not to react—Janus didn’t like a big deal to be made of their problems. But misgendering, while it was a very rare occurrence in this day and age, had always been a particular pet peeve of Logan’s; it was so _simple_ to just _not do it._ His own family had never had a problem with it after he came out at age ten—neither his parents over the next four years, nor his aunt and uncle who he’d lived with in the year between when his parents had died and when he’d traveled south to the capitol to enroll in the wizardry program. If they could _all_ use his pronouns correctly without an issue when they’d known him his whole life, he refused to have patience for anyone else’s mistakes. Particularly in the castle, where everyone wore colored stripes on their sleeves indicating their pronouns. Pale yellow, the lightest, for she/her; soft orange, a little darker, for they/them; vivid forest green, darker still, for he/him; and a very dark purple, so rich it was almost black, for neopronouns or any pronouns not covered by the other available options—a simple conversation would clarify which. They were _not_ difficult to tell apart, and _literally everyone_ wore them _all the time._ Sure, accidents happened; but, in Logan’s opinion, they _shouldn’t._ Particularly not ones involving the pronouns of anyone he knew. _Particularly_ not Janus. 

But this was about Janus, and what Janus wanted, not what Logan did, so he didn’t voice any of these thoughts. “How are you feeling?” he asked them instead, taking pains to keep his voice gentle and casual. 

“I… don’t know. I wasn’t expecting it at all, you know? But it wasn’t as bad as the more usual mistake. It was… still not _good._ But strange.” Janus shook their head. “I don’t know.” 

“It’s alright to not know,” Logan said. “Are you alright?” 

Janus was silent for a long moment. “I think so? I… I really don’t know. She apologized when she realized her mistake.” Their lips twitched in a smile that didn’t reach their eyes. “At least it distracted Roman from sulking for a little while. He was furious.” They reached up and traced the curve of Logan’s cheek with one finger. “I like your reaction better.” 

Logan turned his head to press a kiss to the tip of their finger. “Oh?” 

Janus’s smile was more genuine this time. “Yes, because you spoil me.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I beg to differ. This is not ‘spoiling you.’ I am perfectly capable of spoiling you, with affection or otherwise, and I enjoy doing so, but this is not it. This is providing you with basic support as a human being.” 

“Well, maybe you _should_ be spoiling me right now, did you ever think about that?” Janus pouted. 

Logan held up one finger in a _pause_ motion. Clarity was important, regardless of what Janus seemed to be signalling. “Janus. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to be distracted?” 

Janus shook their head. “I just wanted to tell you. I don’t want to talk about it. Or think about it. Or think about anything else that’s happened today, honestly.” They closed their eyes, clearly expecting a kiss. 

Logan cupped their cheek in his hand and ran his thumb over their bottom lip, thinking. “Have I mentioned how lovely you are lately?” he inquired.

Janus opened their eyes, cheeks flushing beneath their rouge and scales. “Oh, once or twice,” they said. 

Logan smirked. “Well, that’s not nearly enough. Do you know—when Remus and I came outside, and I saw you in the sunlight leaning on that birdbath?” 

“Yeah?” Janus breathed. 

“I thought you looked positively ethereal,” Logan replied at a similar volume. 

Janus’s hands flew up to hide their blushing face, fingers loosely spread so they could peek at him through the gaps between them, their eyes wide. “That’s _cheating,”_ they managed, their pleased tone belying their words. “You and your _vocabulary.”_

“I thought you just said you _liked_ being spoiled, dear,” Logan said, trying not to laugh. “As a connoisseur of words, I would be remiss not to bedazzle you with the very finest ones I know. You are ethereal. Exquisite. Bewitching. Resplendent. Breathtaking.”

Janus, half-giggling, shoved at him, but only succeeded in knocking themself off balance and nearly falling off his lap to the ground; they caught his shoulder just in time and clung to him. “Shut up,” they whined into his shirt through their laughter, their entire face flushed pink, even the little gaps between patches of scales. 

“Divine,” Logan went on through his own laughter. “You’re absolutely flawless. Entrancing. Dazzling. Radiant. Beguiling. Unsurpassed in—”

Janus dragged him down by the collar of his shirt and pressed their mouth artlessly against his, still laughing. 

As a general rule, Logan wasn’t a fan of having to stop talking; however, as with most things, he was more than delighted to make an exception for Janus. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman, in distracting himself from the looming competition, learns some interesting information about Janus; meanwhile, many miles away, Virgil is not having a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virgil's pronouns in this AU are they/them/theirs and xe/xem/xyr! That's probably fairly obvious from context when you read it, but it's never outright stated in this chapter, so just in case there's any confusion. 
> 
> Everyone say thank you to @yougoodfahm on tumblr for beta-ing!

“Janus?” Roman said that evening, curled up in the corner of the large window nook in his bedroom with his legs tucked under him. He stared out the wide window at the rapidly darkening sky. 

“Hm?” Janus looked up from the book they were reading. 

“I wonder if Patton knows how  _ wonderful _ he is.” Roman sighed, looking up at the couple of twinkling pinpricks of light that had already appeared. “More wonderful than all the stars in the sky, or every flower he’s ever given me.” 

To their credit, Janus did an excellent job hiding their exasperated sigh. “You could _tell_ _him that you think so,”_ they said, their tone a touch acidic. 

Roman frowned. “You  _ know _ I won’t impose on him like that.” He glanced down at the little bouquet Patton had given him, still in his hand. “Do you think he picked these for me? That maybe he thought of me, and wanted me to have flowers? Perhaps even with romantic intent?” 

Janus blinked at him. “...Wh—yes? Of  _ course?  _ Why else—?” 

“No!” Roman waved his hands at Janus in a shushing motion. “No, you can’t  _ say _ that like it’s all  _ obvious!” _

They raised an eyebrow at him. “My mistake. I will stop treating basic facts like they should be taken for granted. Say, did you know there’s this thing called gravity?” 

“Don’t be  _ mean.” _ Roman gave a put-upon little huff. “The fun is in  _ speculating _ about it, Janus.”

“What, gravity?” they asked innocently. 

“You know what I mean!” Roman crossed his arms and pouted at them. “You can’t just take all the mystery away like that.  _ Where _ is your sense of romance? This is no  _ fun!” _

Janus inhaled and rubbed their temples. “The deadline to find a partner on your own and be exempted from the competition is  _ tomorrow, _ Roman.” They made eye contact, all their playfulness suddenly gone, their expression deadly serious. “You are out of  _ time _ for fun and games.” 

An icy dread crept into Roman’s chest to fill the void left by the daydreams Janus had just banished. He bit his lip. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about the deadline. “I know,” he said, voice coming out very small. “But if I ask him, I’ll always be afraid he wouldn’t mean the yes.” He fiddled with a thread hanging off the end of the ribbon on the bouquet, avoiding the gaze Janus was pinning him down with; he was afraid that if he looked at their face he wouldn’t be able to hold back the sudden urge to cry. 

See, it was easy to believe Patton liked him back when they were face-to-face, laughing and finding a million things to talk about and a million stories to tell each other, and when Patton would shyly press a flower or even a whole bouquet into his hands every time he saw him, leaning close like he was reluctant to pull away from where his fingertips brushed Roman’s. 

But it was just as easy, when Roman was alone, to persuade himself that he surely must be misinterpreting all of that, because neither of them had ever  _ said _ anything about it. To decide that he would be a terrible person if he ever tried to take things further. What if Patton felt like he couldn’t say no? Roman  _ had _ to leave it up to him. 

So he hadn’t told Patton about the deadline. That would feel too much like pressuring him. Sure, maybe Janus would say it was a stupid plan—and Remus probably would too, and Logan, and maybe they’d be right—but Roman had felt certain, when he decided some weeks ago not to tell Patton, that he would somehow just  _ know _ anyway that it was time and come flying to Roman’s rescue with a love confession. Stories always had happy endings like that. And there was still time for Patton to say something. All hope was not lost. One more day. There was still time.

It was just so very  _ little _ time. And the hope was going with it. 

So Roman had been trying hard not to think about it, even a tiny bit, because if this didn’t work it would be his own fault. If Janus decided that now was a good time to snap at him about the contest, Roman wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop crying. 

But so far, Janus hadn’t replied; they’d been awfully silent as Roman picked the end of the blue ribbon to pieces. 

Roman dared a glance at them. They were still staring at him so hard they could probably see into the deepest, best-hidden corners of his soul, but their terrifying serious expression had softened into a thoughtful one, a tiny crease visible between their eyebrows. Worried, but trying to hide it. 

After another beat, they rose from their chair, setting their book down. They crossed the room and sat next to him in the window seat. “Roman.” They were still staring right into his eyes, leaving him feeling as open and readable as a book. He wasn’t sure how they managed to make their voice so soft and kind and yet so scolding all at the same time. “You are  _ not _ difficult to love.” 

Roman blinked once and turned his face to gaze out the window. “I didn’t say that.” He watched Janus out of the corner of his eye, pretending to focus on the rising moon. 

Janus scoffed and gave him a shrewd look. “Don’t pull that on me. You meant it, loud and clear.” 

Roman sighed, his shoulders slumping. He traced little patterns back and forth on one of the glass panes, so cold with the oncoming night that it was almost uncomfortable to touch, and Janus didn’t even say anything about him smudging it. For a moment, he couldn’t muster the will to force his response out of his mouth, the fear that Janus might  _ agree _ with him twisting his stomach uncomfortably. 

But not saying it would be worse. He knew that. When he had a thought that made his stomach feel like it was shrinking inward and taking the rest of him with it, he knew he had to talk it out, or it would eat him up.

That didn’t mean he hated admitting to it any less. 

Roman took a deep, measured breath in. “Dad and Papi  _ pay you _ to be my friend, Janus,” he whispered. 

Janus was quiet for a moment, the silence too loud against Roman’s thudding heart. He dared a glance at them. 

They raised their eyebrows, the corner of their mouth lifting in a challenging smirk. “So… you’re saying you think I can be bought? Is that it? Is that what you think of me?” they demanded, tone not quite playful but headed that way. 

“Wh—no! Of course not! I just—” Roman began indignantly, then realized he couldn’t think of a way to end the sentence that would leave him with a leg to stand on. 

Janus nodded, seeing the realization on his face. “You think  _ money _ would be enough to compel me to let you cry your princely tears and snot all over my shoulder every other week?” they continued, still smirking. “Do you think I would tell embarrassing stories about my childhood to just anyone, as long as they dropped some cash? Do you really?” They poked at him teasingly, which was something they’d  _ definitely _ picked up from Remus no matter how often they denied it. “Ah, yes, you’ve uncovered my evil plot to be a person who tricks others into thinking I’m their friend, whatever will I do?” 

Roman snickered in spite of himself. “You don’t have to make it sound so ridiculous…”

“If I am not dramatic about everything for every single second, I will die,” Janus said with a straight face. “But that’s beside the point. Roman, your fathers don’t  _ pay me _ to be your  _ friend. _ Do you honestly think I would stand for that? They pay me to clean up after you and to make sure I feel comfortable calling you out on your many and various kinds of bullshit.” They nudged him gently, voice softening from its previous playful tease to something more genuine. “I'm your friend on my own time.” 

A warm feeling settled in his chest. Still, Roman hesitated, just a little. “You’re  _ sure?” _ he asked. 

_ “Yes,  _ I’m sure. Do you think I would have stuck around for eight years if I didn’t genuinely enjoy your company?” Janus put a hand on his shoulder, watching his face to make sure he was listening. “Roman, you’re funny, and thoughtful, and sweet and clever. And you’re also overthinking. You are  _ not _ difficult to love. Understand?” 

Listening to Janus reassure him was one thing. Being made to verbally  _ agree  _ with them was quite another. But Janus had their most stubborn expression on, and Roman had yet to win a fight with them when they dug their heels in. Roman pulled a face. “Fine,” he mumbled, rather than draw it out. 

Janus nodded and didn’t push it. “Why am  _ I _ the emotionally stable one between the two of us?” they demanded under their breath, shaking their head. 

Roman couldn’t help but giggle at that. He leaned on Janus comfortably, staring out the window at the stars; an unspoken  _ thank you. _ They wrapped an arm around his shoulders in response;  _ you’re welcome.  _

“Do  _ you _ like anyone, Janus?” he inquired curiously after a moment.

Janus quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not telling.” 

“No fair! I tell you  _ all _ about Patton!” 

“Yes, and I have told you _many_ _times_ that it’s _incredibly_ weird to hear someone talk that way about my _brother._ But that’s your decision. This is mine.” Janus smiled to themself. “You’ll just have to try and figure out who it is for yourself.” 

“There  _ is _ someone, then?” Roman said triumphantly, brushing past the rest of Janus’s words. 

“Did I say that?” Janus asked, blinking wide and innocent. 

Roman waved his hand. “I mean,  _ basically _ you did.” 

“Hm. I don’t know.” Janus gave a prim smile and folded their hands in their lap. “Perhaps you’re imagining things.”

_ “Janus!” _ Roman pouted. 

Janus chuckled. “Fine. Fine. There is someone. I won’t tell you who, though. Patton knows, but he’s under strict orders not to tell you, so don’t bother trying him.” 

“Is it someone you both know, then?”

Janus shrugged, examining their fingernails. “Perhaps.” 

“That’s so  _ cute!” _ Roman squealed, bouncing in his seat. “Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me? Is it someone from your childhood, if you both know them? Do they visit your bakery?”

Janus’s hand rose to their lips to cover a  _ bashful smile, _ and Roman decided he was  _ delighted _ by this new side of them he’d suddenly unlocked. “Sometimes he does,” they allowed. “He even helps out sometimes, if it’s a very busy day and I have to be baking when he visits.” 

“What’s he look like?” Roman demanded. “Is he cute?” 

Janus shook their head, still grinning. “Nice try. You aren’t getting any more details out of me.” 

“Why not?” Roman whined. 

Janus paused, considering this. “Because it’s more fun this way,” they said, reaching over and tapping the tip of Roman’s short nose. “No more questions about that tonight, now.” 

There was a knock on the door, and Logan poked his head in. “Dinner’s ready—I sent a message to your fathers that you’d take it in here tonight. Based on the number of people I’ve sent away today, I’m positive that between here and your family dining room there are at  _ least _ four people lying in wait who’d love to accost you and drag you into more preparations. Better to not give them the opportunity.” 

Roman nodded. Logan was right; the best way to ensure having enough privacy to relax right now was to stay in the princes’ shared suite. “Will Papi and Dad come visit us later?” he asked. Dinner was normally the one time of day he could count on spending time with his fathers in a private, relaxed setting; he didn’t mind changing the schedule, but he didn’t want to miss his parents’ company for the entire evening. 

Logan nodded. “They said around half past nine.” 

“That’s fine, then,” Roman agreed, and he and Janus followed Logan out to the sitting room, where Remus was eating fruit with his fingers off a tray at the end of a laden table. 

“You were taking too long,” he said through a mouthful of cantaloupe, shrugging, in response to the scolding look Logan gave him. 

Logan sighed. “Go wash your hands.” 

“Why?”

“Because you have  _ fruit juices all over them, _ Remus.” Logan crossed his arms. “And you are  _ sticky.”  _

“You never let me do anything fun.” Remus pouted, but left to wash up. 

As the food was served, Roman waited impatiently for Remus to come back. When he finally reemerged, displaying his hands dramatically to Logan, Roman scarcely waited for Remus to reach the table before bursting out, “Janus has a  _ boyfriend!” _

_ “What?” _ Remus dropped the fork he’d just picked up. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He glanced between Roman and Janus, looking bemused. 

_ “When _ did I say that?” Janus demanded at the same time as the other two spoke, sounding exasperated. 

“Okay, fine, you never said if he was actually your boyfriend or not. But you said you have a crush, at least.” Roman crossed his arms. “You have a  _ someone.” _

“Wait,  _ really?” _ Remus asked, sounding delighted. 

Janus sighed. “I regret every single one of my life decisions leading to this moment,” they announced. 

“They won’t tell me, like,  _ anything _ about him, but I  _ think _ he must be a friend of theirs from their home,” Roman explained between bites. 

Logan raised his eyebrows and nodded to himself, seeming more at ease with the situation now. 

Remus leaned forward eagerly. “What’s he like?” 

“That is, oh wait, let me think about it,  _ none of your business,” _ Janus said sweetly. 

“Is he cute?” Remus pressed. 

“Yes, Janus, tell us, is he handsome?” Logan, who seemed very amused for some reason, asked. Roman hadn’t taken him for the type to enjoy teasing people about their crushes, but he supposed the subject had never come up before, so he probably shouldn’t be surprised. 

Janus shot Logan an exasperated look. “I certainly think so. Let’s retire this topic of conversation now.” 

“No, you can’t just—” Remus began. 

“I can and I will.” Janus lifted a bite of food to their mouth and chewed primly. 

“What’s your favorite feature of his?” Logan inquired, smirking. “His hair? His eyes?” 

Janus rolled their eyes, their expression more tart than the raw cranberry Remus had once tricked Roman into taking a bite of. “His brain—when he  _ uses _ it. I  _ said _ I was done talking about him.” 

Logan only chuckled. “How did you meet him?” 

Janus stabbed their fork into their food. “Through a… mutual acquaintance,” they said with a resigned sigh. 

“What’s your favorite thing to do with him?” Logan inquired, his eyes alight with a mischief Roman had rarely seen in him before. 

Janus raised their eyebrows. “That is  _ certainly _ not an appropriate topic of conversation for the dinner table.” 

Logan stifled a laugh. “What do you think his favorite thing about  _ you _ is?” 

Janus hesitated. “I’m sure I couldn’t say, you’d have to ask him.”

“Are you in  _ love?” _ Logan asked. By now he was full-on grinning, his tone a teasing singsong lilt. 

“I don’t think this game is fair,” Janus said, a slight pout forming on their face.  _ “Fine, _ I’m madly in love. Is that what you want to hear? Stop  _ teasing,  _ you’re being  _ mean.” _ Their voice took on a put-upon whine Roman had never heard from them before. 

For some reason, Logan only smirked harder, not seeming bothered by Janus’s accusation in the least.

Well, that wouldn’t stand at all. Roman had  _ really _ thought Logan was more mature than the rest of them about things like this. 

“Logan,” Roman butted in. 

Janus started, and they and Logan both looked over at Roman. Janus looked bewildered by the interruption, almost as if they’d forgotten Roman was there. 

“I  _ won’t _ have you treating Janus like this!” Roman went on. “They’re right, it’s rude and uncalled for.” 

Logan blinked several times, glancing back and forth between Janus and Roman. “Ah. You’re quite right,” he said in a very different tone. He adjusted his cravat. “Apologies, I forgot myself for a moment.” 

Roman shook his head. “Don’t apologize to  _ me, _ apologize to  _ Janus!” _

Logan blinked again, once. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Of course,” he said, turning to Janus. “Janus. If I have caused you distress of any sort, I offer you my most sincere apologies.” He held their gaze, an intense expression on his face that Roman couldn’t parse the meaning of—but his tone had seemed sincere enough, so Roman supposed it was alright.

Janus seemed halfway between annoyed and amused.  _ “Oh, _ you  _ insufferable—” _ they began, then cut themself off, shaking their head. “You’re forgiven. And they say  _ I’m _ the more dramatic between us.” 

“Objectively, you are, without question,” Logan said with a shrug, turning his attention back to his plate.

Janus gasped, clutching their heart. “You take that back this  _ instant!” _ they cried. 

Logan chuckled, gesturing at them with his fork. “I rest my case. Also, I could compile data into graphs demonstrating the proof behind my point. Don’t argue. I  _ will _ win.” 

“You can’t,” Janus said, smirking. 

“Wh—yes, I can,” Logan protested. “Did you not hear what I  _ just _ said?”

Janus put a bite of food in their mouth and took their time chewing it, mirth showing in their eyes as they watched Logan wait impatiently for their response. 

At last, Janus swallowed. “‘Dramatic’ is a subjective term,” they said, setting down their fork with a pointed clink. “You can’t  _ prove _ something based on a subjective judgement made by a biased party. Which you are. Which everyone in this room is, and more generally everyone who knows enough about us to make an evaluation is. Ergo, all your precious  _ graphs _ would be rendered null and void before you even made them. I win.” They smiled sweetly at him and picked up their fork again. 

Roman gave Janus a quiet round of applause, beaming. 

Logan frowned. “I think you’ll find that my criteria for assessing levels of drama are fair.” 

“Can’t be fair if you have a stake in the game,” Janus singsonged, taking another bite and making a show of just how delectable it was. 

“But that’s not necessarily always—” Logan persisted. 

“Besides,” Janus interrupted, sounding bored, “we both know I’ll just deny whatever results you come up with. So I’ll win anyway, without doing  _ any _ of that  _ nasty _ hard work you’re talking about.”

Logan sighed, a sharp short noise of frustration. “I hate it when you do that.” 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Janus told him with a smirk. 

They both left off the argument, seeming to have reached something of a stalemate—Roman knew Janus would insist that they’d won, and he’d back them, but Logan would doubtless insist that no such event had taken place. 

Dinner progressed, with cheerful banter back and forth between the twins and the occasional interjection from Logan or Janus. After they’d finished their meals and servants came in to clear the table, the four of them moved to the area around the fireplace. Roman, Remus, and Janus began a jigsaw puzzle, while Logan sat next to Janus and pulled out his sketchbook again. Roman couldn’t really see from the angle he was at, but it looked like Logan was sketching a person’s face. 

“So Janus,” Logan said after a few moments of silence, his voice brimming with amusement, “this  _ boyfriend _ of yours—”

“Oh, my  _ god, _ will you  _ shut up _ about it?” Janus exclaimed, half-laughing, flinging down the puzzle piece they had been holding and hiding their face in their hands. “I literally  _ cannot _ get you back!” 

Logan grinned. “Yes, I’m well aware of that.” He was silent for a moment, and Roman saw Janus begin to relax. 

Logan leaned a little closer, smirking mercilessly. “So,” he said, almost in Janus’s ear, making them jump, “would you say he’s more  _ handsome _ or  _ sexy?” _

Remus burst into poorly stifled snickers as Janus let out a wordless whine of protest.

“Well?” Logan pressed innocently. 

_ “You… _ are  _ evil,” _ Janus said, their whole face flushed red. 

Logan only chuckled, sitting back and looking very pleased with himself as he picked up his sketchbook once again. 

Roman was torn; on the one hand, he seemed to have accidentally given Logan new fuel for the ongoing rivalry he had with Janus. Roman, of course, was firmly on Janus’s side; it would be of the utmost dishonor to be anything else, and he was nothing if not a loyal friend. Seeing as this was, sort of, his fault, perhaps he ought to do something to intervene on Janus’s behalf. 

On the other hand, Logan was funny. 

Roman struggled with these compelling and weighty moral arguments for all of thirty seconds, until a brilliant compromise struck him: as long as Janus seemed to be taking Logan’s teasing in good fun, Roman could enjoy the amusement without feeling bad about it. That seemed fair. 

“Ha!” Remus cried, fitting in the final edge piece. “Do you think we can finish this before Dad and Papi get here?” 

“Oh,  _ definitely,” _ Roman said, turning his attention back to the puzzle. 

***

“Your Grace?”

Virgil, seated on the chair xe’d dragged out onto their balcony, looked up. “Yes?” 

The butler—hold up, the  _ butler? _ What was  _ he _ doing up here?—inclined his head. “Dinner will be served in a quarter hour.”

“Alright…” Virgil said warily. “Why are you… telling me?” Xe knew perfectly well what time dinner was, and normally the only person who’d remind them was  _ maybe  _ xyr valet, and only if they were running late. Xe hardly  _ ever _ spoke to their family’s head butler—they frankly weren’t sure if the man had ever been in xyr room before. 

“Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, specially request your presence,” was the only answer they got before the butler was gone, almost as silently as he’d appeared. 

Virgil heaved a sigh, and, chewing on the inside of their lip, turned back to stare out over the rooftops of the city. So much for trying to spend the next few minutes finishing the lyrics they’d been working on all afternoon as they watched the sun set. Time to spend them silently panicking as they watched the sun set instead. 

Virgil took stock of their outfit; xe was wearing a loose purple silk blouse and plain black pants. Should they dress more formally to appease their parents? Was something going on? Had xe done something wrong? They decided to add a waistcoat; the black brocade one was always a safe bet. Xe glanced at xemself in the large mirror; their makeup wasn’t too smudged and xyr straight black hair, just long enough to get in their eyes, looked alright too. 

The waiting soon became unbearable. Virgil  _ knew _ it was inconvenient for the servants who prepared the room for each meal, but xe couldn’t stand to pace around their room any longer, so xe showed up at the dining room five minutes early. 

“Sorry, Daisy,” they mumbled to the maid placing wine glasses at each place; she nodded without looking up. Virgil took a seat on one of the extra, mostly-decorative chairs placed at intervals against the walls of the sumptuous pale-green-cream-and-gold room so they wouldn’t be in the way, and proceeded to pretend they weren’t biting their nails until xyr parents arrived.

“Virgil, darling,” xyr mother greeted warmly as she swept into the room on the arm of her husband. Her eyes lingered on them, clearly registering the way their dark clothes were so out of place in the elegant pastel room, but choosing not to comment—she never did. Virgil always knew when she noticed, though, no matter if she tried to hide it. “Lovely to see you.” 

“Hi, Mom,” Virgil said, moving to xyr chair at the table. “Dad.” 

Their father, whose velvet dinner jacket was exactly the same shade of green as the walls, nodded at them as he took his own seat. “Good evening, child.” 

Virgil watched their parents warily as dinner was served. Most of the time, now that Virgil was an adult, xyr parents were happy to live separate lives from Virgil while technically being under the same roof; they only really saw each other at dinner. Virgil had  _ no idea _ why they would suddenly make such a point of  _ insisting _ on xyr company the one time of day they were already going to see Virgil. Seriously, had xe done something wrong? Had someone, like, died, or something? What could be so important? 

But their parents seemed to be in no hurry to bring up whatever it was. Instead, they spent the first course making the most awkward small talk Virgil had endured in recent memory. Virgil did  _ not _ appreciate it, wishing they would cut to the chase so xe could stop  _ wondering. _

It wasn’t until they were almost through the main course that xyr father set his fork down, clearing his throat, and Virgil, who had  _ just _ been beginning to relax in spite of themself, snapped to instant attention. 

“Virgil,” he said, his friendliness just a touch too over-the-top, “you’re interested in men, romantically speaking, yes?” 

“I—” Where was this going? This had to be a trap in some way. “Yes?” Virgil said when they couldn’t think of a reason not to answer, twisting their napkin in their hands. Xyr parents  _ knew _ this. It wasn’t like this was news. 

“Excellent! Good, good, very good. That’s wonderful,” their father said, beaming so hard it showed through his tremendous mustache. “I’m so happy to hear that.” 

“...Why?” Virgil asked, though they could already tell they  _ really _ didn’t want to know.

“Well, we’ve had some wonderful news,” xyr mother said, placing her hand over their father’s. “A royal messenger from the Kingdom of Flores arrived in town today with a public announcement—I’m sure you’ve heard of their twin princes?” 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Asking about romantic prospects, and then mentioning strangers with high social standing?  _ Red _ alert. This had better not be going anywhere  _ near _ where Virgil thought it was going. They had had  _ more _ than enough of all the elaborate parties xyr parents insisted on dragging them to. “I mean, I guess.” They chewed on their thumbnail. 

“They’ve come of age, and to celebrate, the kings have announced a contest for each of their hands in marriage!” Their mother beamed at them.

That… had admittedly not been where Virgil had thought this was going. 

It was much worse. 

Sure, they hadn’t had a concrete idea of what xyr mother was about to say, but they’d assumed it would be about some sort of party or other social event. A one-time thing. Certainly with no  _ marriage. _ Who did that kind of stuff anymore? 

“I’m not interested,” Virgil said quickly. 

“Nonsense, you don’t mean that,” xyr father said with a chuckle. “I mean, come on now, Virgil, a  _ prince? _ I mean, I’ve heard they’re supposed to be very charismatic. In a good way! Here, look, they gave us portraits of them—aren’t they handsome?” He beckoned without looking, and a footman stepped forward, with two miniature portraits in his hands, which he passed to Virgil. 

The portraits were designed to match each other in a mirrored way—really playing on the whole “twins” thing. Both of the princes had warm golden-brown skin, dark brown eyes with monolid eyelids, and jet-black hair. Despite being identical twins, they displayed very different styles in the paintings.

The prince with the red background was cleanshaven and had long hair, reaching a little bit past his shoulders; it was loose in the portrait, held out of his face with a pair of rectangular gold clips decorated with rubies. He wore a tight red shirt with a cowl neck and a subtle, swirling gold filigree design woven into the fabric. His lips were painted a striking bright red, echoing the red-and-gold blended eyeshadow on his upper eyelids; he had sharply winged black eyeliner, and tiny ruby earrings. 

“That’s Prince Roman, and this one is Prince Remus,” the footman said over Virgil’s shoulder, indicating the red prince and green prince in turn. Virgil turned xyr attention to Remus’s portrait. 

He had a green background on his portrait to match Roman’s red. His hair was worn in an undercut, shaved close to his head on the sides but with the top kept about long enough to reach down to his ears. It was combed back and to the left in the portrait, but maintained volume instead of being slicked to his head. He was wearing a silver turtleneck with a dark forest green vest over it, emerald earrings larger than those of his brother, and had dark green lipstick and black eyeshadow. He also had a slim, straight moustache and a sharply triangular goatee. 

The princes were both kind of cute. In any other circumstance, Virgil might even be inclined to  _ admit _ they were cute. But now was  _ not _ the time to let xyr parents win even an inch of ground. Xe held back a sigh of irritation and looked up from the portraits. If they handled this  _ just _ right, maybe xe could talk xyr parents out of this stupid idea. They’d thought xyr parents were finally  _ over _ the whole find-a-partner thing, and now they pulled this? This was so much worse than they’d ever been before. “They look alright, or whatever, I guess.” Virgil rolled their eyes for emphasis. “I mean, they’re princes, they have loads to spend on clothes and stylists, especially for portraits. What did you expect? Anyway, how they look doesn’t tell me anything about if I’d be interested in them.” Xe crossed xyr arms. 

“I mean, I think it’s safe to say their looks don’t hurt, though, isn’t that right?” xyr father said in a teasing tone that was probably supposed to draw Virgil out of their shell to laugh and agree with him. What it  _ actually _ achieved was… not that. 

Virgil bit back the annoyed retort that rose to their lips. Instead, in a clipped tone, they said, “No, I really don’t care about them either way. And I  _ don’t _ want to participate.” 

Their father chuckled, and to his credit it only sounded a little forced. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy.  _ Besides,” _ he pressed on, speaking over Virgil’s irritated groan, “it will do you good to get out of the house! I mean, surely you don’t intend to keep living with your mother and I, while avoiding  _ every _ social function you could find your own spouse at,  _ forever?” _

That was, actually, more or less Virgil’s plan. They were trying to start up a career as a musician, not that xyr parents knew about that. If they were to find out, Virgil knew exactly how it would go; it would be something along the lines of  _ oh, Virgil, how wonderful! Why, we know just the person to mentor you! _ And then they’d be bundled off to learn how to play the harp at parties, or something equally dull, before xe could get a word in edgewise. A career their parents would approve of. One that would pay well. And one that would take away everything Virgil loved about music. 

Virgil didn’t want to be the sort of musician that went around playing delicate little tunes for nobility. That wasn’t xyr style at all. Even if they did feel the occasional pang of regret for how  _ easy _ it would be, compared to what xe really wanted to do with xyr life. 

No, Virgil wanted to be one of those performers that sang songs filled with raw emotion at the top of their lungs to crowds of people reflecting those emotions right back at them. The sort of performer whose concerts Virgil had grown up sneaking out of the house to attend, having the time of xyr life and not coming home until the sun was threatening to peek over the horizon. Virgil wanted  _ that.  _ And xyr parents would  _ hate _ it if they knew. Their child, a musician who performed for  _ commoners? _ Unthinkable! 

But Virgil was sure it would be worth the effort. Probably. As sure as Virgil ever was of anything, what with their tendency to overthink. They  _ wanted _ this so badly, more than any life xyr parents would plan out for them; it felt  _ right. _

But if sneaking out to  _ attend _ concerts was hard, sneaking out to  _ perform _ in one was triply so; it required so much more planning ahead. It was a lot easier for Virgil to tell themself the concerts would come later, and stay in the house all day writing lyrics and music. Their parents were a lot less likely to find out about that, too. So, partly because of obstacles and partly because of not always trying hard enough, Virgil had only been able to perform in a couple of shows so far. Launching a career in music was a lot harder than it had seemed when Virgil was twelve. But someday it would all pay off. Xe hoped. 

Point being, they had more important things on their mind than romance right now, and they wanted nothing to do with the types of circles xyr parents frequented. This weird  _ contest _ thing in an entirely different  _ country _ was the last thing xe needed. 

“I  _ don’t want _ to participate,” Virgil said, putting emphasis on each individual word and all but biting their tongue to keep their tone even vaguely civil. “Thank you anyway.”

“Why don’t you take a little time to think about it? I’m sure you’ll come around,” their father said. 

Virgil took a sharp, annoyed breath, clenching a fist in the fabric of the napkin in xyr hands. “Thanks, but no,” xe insisted, trying to keep a level tone. 

“Come on, now,” their father persisted. “Just think about it! It would be such a good opportu—”

“Are you not, like, hearing any of the things I’m saying?” Virgil demanded, slamming a hand on the table and making the crystal glasses rattle. “I  _ am _ thinking about it! I don’t want to do it! End of discussion!” 

“I’m sure if you just give it a little reflection, you’ll see the merits of the idea,” xyr father said bullheadedly, crossing his arms. 

“Anyway, we sent a message back straight away signing you up for the competition, signed with our family’s official seal,” Virgil’s mother picked up quickly, clapping her hands like this was somehow  _ good _ news. 

“Wait,  _ what?” _ Virgil scrambled to their feet so fast xyr chair fell over. 

“So it’s all been settled and finalized by this point,” she went on. “The kings will be receiving your name shortly. No backing out! I’m sure it will be a wonderful opportunity for you! You’ll do so well.” 

Virgil looked back and forth between their beaming parents in silent horror, coming to several rapid realizations. 

The thing about their parents was that they had spent twenty years dealing with Virgil’s extreme antipathy to almost every social situation imaginable. At this point, they tended to have a good idea of what they could and couldn’t get Virgil to do. Often this would involve some sort of compromise in an attempt to get Virgil to willingly cooperate. 

But tonight? Tonight their parents hadn’t made more than the barest, most token attempt to get xem on board with the idea. 

And  _ that _ meant that they must be  _ certain _ there was no way Virgil could duck out. 

Virgil was  _ so _ fucked. 

***

When they were dismissed for the night, Janus and Logan barely made it past the first corner in the hallway leading away from the princes’ rooms before Janus grabbed the lapels of Logan’s suit coat and pulled him in for an intense, frazzled kiss. “You  _ tease _ me,” they breathed, peppering kisses all over his face, “so  _ much,” _ pressing another kiss to his lips and pulling away almost before he could kiss back, “and it’s  _ hot.” _

Logan reached up to cradle the back of Janus’s head in his hand as they finally stilled, resting their forehead against his and gazing hungrily into his eyes. “I can’t tell if this is praise or a reprimand,” he said, smiling. 

Janus made a noise halfway between frustration and amusement. “I don’t  _ know,” _ they said, bending down for a slower, more collected kiss. 

“Hmm,” Logan hummed, nuzzling their noses together. “Perhaps I’d better not do it anymore, then,” he teased. 

Janus flushed. “I did  _ not _ say that.” 

Logan smiled and pressed a kiss to the tip of Janus’s narrow nose. “Very well, love. Let’s go home now? I’m tired.” Acknowledging it made the stress of the day fully crash into him, and he sagged just slightly against them. 

Janus buried their face in his hair. “Tea and a nice fire?” they suggested, tone shifting from flirtatious to warm as they gauged his mood. 

“That sounds  _ wonderful,” _ Logan agreed. 

Janus nodded once, firmly, and straightened. “Well, let’s be off, then,” they said, offering him their hand. The two made their way through the halls in comfortable silence. 

Janus touched Logan’s shoulder as they entered Logan’s rooms, stopping him as he headed towards the kitchen area. 

“Hm?” Logan inquired, pausing to give them his attention. 

Janus slid their hands up Logan’s chest with a feather-light touch. “Take a moment to  _ relax,” _ they murmured, slipping their hands under the lapels of his coat and rubbing tiny, firm circles on his shoulders before pushing the coat right off his shoulders with fussy little patting motions. 

“I can’t tell if I’m being seduced or cared for,” Logan said with a chuckle. 

“You say that like I’m not perfectly capable of doing both at once, darling.” Janus moved behind him, tugged his coat all the way off, and went to carefully drape it over the back of a chair, then came back to him. They took each of his hands in turn and undid the tight buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves, then tugged him close by his cravat with a sly smirk, only to press the softest of kisses to his lips as they undid the cravat with well-practiced fingers, leaving it draped around his neck like a scarf. 

“You’re always so done up at work,” Janus scolded, beginning to undo the double row of delicately carved buttons on Logan’s waistcoat with a touch much gentler than their tone. “I don’t know how you manage to even  _ breathe _ in all this; it’s so formal.” 

Logan reached for the buttons to try and help, but they batted his hands away. “No, stop that,  _ I’m _ fussing over you right now.  _ You _ hold still.” 

Logan obliged, smiling to himself as Janus leaned in and pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of his jaw. They were both silent for a beat; then, in response to Janus’s previous statement, Logan said mildly, “Well, we do work for  _ the royal family. _ I feel that certain standards of professionalism in my attire are appropriate.” 

“You just like that they’ll let you have velvet suits that you don’t have to pay for,” Janus accused, smirking. 

“Perhaps,” Logan allowed. The kings gave him and Janus each an allowance specifically for their wardrobes; it was only practical, in his eyes, to take full advantage of it. “Besides,” he added slyly, “you seem to like them.” 

Janus rolled their eyes, cheeks flushing pale pink, finishing one row of buttons and beginning on the next. “I like  _ you. _ I like how confident you get in the clothes you like best.” They paused, biting their lip. “I will allow that it  _ is _ a nice coincidence that you like suits so much, though.” 

“A very nice one,” Logan echoed, teasing. 

Janus huffed, smiling in spite of themself. “I could do with fewer buttons on these damn things, though,” they added, still undoing the tiny buttons on Logan’s waistcoat. They’d gotten the hang of it now, though, and were working their way through this row much quicker. 

Logan smirked as the final button came undone and the waistcoat hung more loosely about him. “I don’t know. As I recall, you’re quite talented at unbuttoning my—”

“Oh, shut up,” Janus said, giggling. They nudged the waistcoat off his shoulders and set it down with the coat, then came back and clasped both his hands in theirs. They leaned down till their breath ghosted across his lips and waited for him to close the gap. 

Close it he did, and they kissed him gentle and sweet, rubbing their thumbs back and forth along the backs of his hands. 

“You work too hard,” they murmured, resting their forehead against his, their eyes still closed. “Nobody even wants this stupid contest to be happening. You can let other people do the work. Nobody will mind if it’s poorly done, and Remus certainly won’t fault you. And then you’ll be less tired and more happy.” 

“I do not think I am physically capable of intentionally neglecting my duties,” Logan said. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Janus sighed, opening their eyes. “I  _ knew _ you’d say something dreadfully sensible like that.” They caressed his cheek, then drew back to undo the top two buttons of his shirt and mess with his collar until they liked the way it draped open. “There. Now you should be more comfortable and less stuffy.” 

“Are you  _ certain _ this wasn’t a ploy to divest me of the greater part of my outfit?” Logan teased, though he appreciated it. They were right; he was much more comfortable in his loosened shirtsleeves than he’d been five minutes ago. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s only an added benefit,” Janus responded in a similar tone, pressing the tiniest peck of a kiss to his cheek and whisking themself away to the little kitchen nook. They went about preparing a pot of chamomile in the little kitchen and pulled out the matching floral mugs. 

Logan, meanwhile, roughly chopped up some apples (his favorite) and pears (Janus’s). Janus shot him an exasperated look when they noticed what he was doing. 

“I  _ told _ you you need to stop working, and now this?” They flung their hands in the air. 

“Do you  _ not _ want roasted pears?” Logan raised his eyebrows, sprinkling cinnamon over the fruit.

“I didn’t say that,” Janus said, quickly enough to make Logan chuckle. “I just meant you don’t  _ have _ to,” they added, sulky now. 

“I  _ want _ to, love. It’s fine.” Logan spread the fruit out in a pan and placed it to cook on the fire, which, thanks to the palace staff, had already been merrily crackling in the hearth by the time they arrived home. 

Janus wrinkled their nose at him, but accepted his word, picking up the teapot and filling the mugs. “Do you want to read to me?” they asked, drizzling honey into the tea. 

Logan couldn’t help but smile; he loved reading aloud and found it soothing. Janus was always so perceptive when it came to his wants. “Yes, please.” 

Janus moved to the bookshelf and ran their fingers lightly along the spines, browsing titles. “I like this one,” they announced, pulling out one of the poetry collections—a well-worn volume he’d read to them often, full of poems about the little joys of the everyday. “It’s my favorite.” 

Logan crossed the room to stand beside them. “You just say that because you know  _ I  _ like it,” he accused, resting a hand on their waist. 

“Maybe so.” Janus glanced at him. “I like things that make you happy, is that such a crime?” 

Logan half smiled. “I suppose not. I don’t mind reading something else, though.” 

Janus shook their head. “No, I really do like this one. And I like that you like it so much. I want this one.” 

“It’s a very good one, then,” Logan said, accepting the book and moving to place it on the sidetable by the loveseat.

Logan tested one of the apples with a fork and pulled the pan off the fire when he found it was soft. He transferred the cooked fruit to a plate and set it down on the sidetable as well, just as Janus brought the mugs of tea over. 

“Do you want to take your hair out?” Logan inquired, carrying the empty pan to the counter and setting it down to cool. 

Janus reached up and felt at their hair, still pinned up. “Oh. That’s a good idea, yes,” they said. They glanced at him from under their lashes. “Do you want to help?” 

Logan smiled. “I would be delighted.” He sat on the loveseat, positioned at the perfect distance from the fire in the hearth, and patted the spot next to him. 

Janus nodded, but disappeared into the bedroom; they reemerged only a moment later with their hairbrush and came to sit beside him. 

Logan removed the pins holding their hair up one at a time, collecting them in his right hand and setting them down on the ever-more-crowded sidetable when he’d satisfied himself that they were all removed. Janus’s hair, usually so straight, fell about their shoulders with just the slightest curl from being twisted up all day. 

Logan pressed a kiss to the nape of Janus’s neck and picked up the hairbrush, gathering their hair in his hands. He started at the ends and gently worked his way up, brushing their hair in longer and longer strokes and carefully coaxing out the few tangles that had managed to accumulate over the day, until he was at last brushing out the full length of their hair in smooth, even strokes; their hair gleamed in the firelight, the highlights it drew out reminiscent of burnished brass. 

At last Logan set the brush down, draping Janus’s hair over one of their shoulders and leaning around on their other side to press a kiss to their cheek. “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered. 

That earned him a startled giggle. Janus looked so unguarded, their hair all soft and shiny and their shoulders relaxed. They were always the most precious thing Logan could imagine, of course, but he had to admit that he was particularly fond of the way they became so comfortable and open when it was just the two of them like this. 

“Turn around,” Janus said suddenly, turning themself as they spoke so that they were facing him. They tugged at his shoulder to guide him, gentle yet insistent. 

Logan followed their lead and turned so that now they were behind him and he was almost directly facing the arm of the loveseat. “Why?” he inquired. 

Janus placed their hands on his shoulders, grip firm, and he relaxed into their touch, tension that he hadn’t even realized was there beginning to melt away. 

He could hear the pleased smirk in Janus’s voice, even if he couldn’t see their face. “You like when I do this, that’s why.” They began massaging his shoulders, coaxing the tension out of his muscles. 

Logan closed his eyes. “Thank you.” 

Janus hummed in response, working their way up and down his back; after a few minutes, when they’d satisfied themself that he was properly relaxed, their hands slowed to a stop, resting on each of his shoulder blades. 

Logan shifted so that his back was no longer to them, pulling them close and pressing a kiss to their forehead. 

Janus smiled in response, leaning against him comfortably. “May I have some tea, darling?” they inquired. 

Logan nodded. “Of course.” He passed them one of the mugs and picked up the other for himself, cradling it in his hands and taking slow sips. 

After a moment, Janus set their mug down on the ground at the foot of the sofa—within easy reach—and lay down, resting their head in Logan’s lap. 

“Read to me?” they asked softly. 

Logan smiled, reaching for the book; with his other hand, he picked up the fork and speared a piece of roasted pear on it. He fed it to Janus, who’d obligingly closed their eyes and opened their mouth, before selecting a chunk of apple for himself and opening the book to a random poem. 

As Logan alternately read aloud and fed the roasted fruit to himself and Janus, he felt himself relaxing still further. The day had certainly been a stressful one, as tomorrow was bound to be. And yet… 

He turned a page and reached down to caress Janus’s face, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear; they scrunched up their face and smiled, turning their head slightly to nuzzle his palm. Logan felt a pang of affection in his chest so strong it was nearly physical. He rubbed his knuckles back and forth along their cheek. 

Logan would gladly put up with all the stress in the world for moments like this. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has put himself (and everyone else) in a bit of a pickle, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone say thank you to @yougoodfahm on tumblr for betaing!!

Two days later, Logan was awoken by a soft yet insistent ringing in his ears—the alarm spell he’d set up to go off every morning, about half an hour before he and Janus needed to get up. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers to turn the noise off. 

He turned his attention to Janus, who was still fast asleep, lying facing him on their side; their arms were loosely wrapped around his waist and their face was nuzzled against his bare chest, the warm down coverlet tucked snugly up around their neck. Some of their hair had worked its way free of the braid they wore it to sleep in and instead trailed in wisps along their cheek. Logan reached down and gently smoothed the loose hair back, gathering it together and tucking it behind Janus’s ear; their cheek was warm and soft, their face relaxed. 

Logan tipped his head to press a kiss to Janus’s forehead, gently nudging at their shoulder. “Good morning, dear,” he said softly. 

Janus made a sleepy noise of complaint, shifting closer to him. Not quite awake, but stirring. Logan smiled and shook them again. “Janus.” 

“Mmnh,” Janus grumbled, worming still closer. “G’way.” 

“It’s time to wake up, my love.” Logan kissed their forehead again. 

“Nooooo,” Janus whined, squeezing their eyes tighter shut. 

Logan rubbed his hand up and down their back. “It really is, my dear.” 

Janus wrinkled their nose, still not opening their eyes. “Sleep,” they mumbled. 

“Well, _I_ need to get up, then,” Logan tried. 

As he’d expected, Janus’s eyes flew open and they tightened their grip around him. _“No.”_

Logan chuckled. “Good morning.” 

“Mmh,” Janus mumbled, burying their face in his chest. 

Logan stroked their hair and waited patiently for a minute; when Janus showed no further signs of stirring, he let his hand come to a rest on the back of their head. “You never answered my question the other day,” he said. 

There was a pause. 

“What?” Janus tipped their head back to blink up at him in bleary confusion. 

Logan resumed stroking their hair. “Day before yesterday, at dinner. When Roman and Remus were asking about your terribly mysterious partner. I asked you what you thought my favorite thing about you is.” 

“Oh.” Janus blinked some more, seeming marginally more awake. _“Obviously_ my ass.” 

Logan flicked their ear gently. _“Dear.”_

“My mouth?” Janus tried with a smirk that was too sleepy to be as suggestive as they clearly intended it to be. 

_“Janus._ I’m serious.” 

Janus wrinkled their nose and closed their eyes again. “That’s no fun.” 

Logan waited, running his finger up and down along their cheek. 

“I dunno,” Janus mumbled. “Probably something sappy. You’re nice like that.” 

Logan smiled and cupped the side of their face in his hand. “You’re my favorite everything,” he murmured. “How clever you are. How beautiful. The way you notice every little detail. Your fierceness. Your humor. Your gorgeous scales. How stubborn you are. Your smile. Your—”

Janus rolled to lie on top of Logan and kissed him, deep and hard and still a little sleep-clumsy, warm lips sliding against his as they cradled the back of his head in their hand. Logan let his hands rest on their back, one on the small of it and one higher up tracing gentle patterns with his fingers, as he lazily reciprocated the kiss; it tasted of morning breath, but Janus was so soft and clingy and warm in the mornings that they never failed to melt him anyway. 

Janus pulled back, green eyes inches from Logan’s own brown ones. “You taste bad,” they told him with a petty little pout. 

“Somehow, between you stopping me from getting up to brush my teeth and you being the one who kissed me, I fail to see how that is even marginally my fault,” Logan responded, trying not to sound as amused as he felt. 

Janus pouted harder. Logan reached to catch one of their hands in his own, and, with a little awkward maneuvering of elbows, brought it to his lips to kiss. “If we get up, we can _both_ brush our teeth,” he suggested. 

Janus laced their fingers through his. “It’s so _cold,_ though,” they whined. 

“It is not that cold. Living quarters in the palace never drop below sixty-five degrees, and it’s nearly summer.” 

“Shut up with your _facts. I’m_ cold,” Janus grumbled, pointedly grabbing the edge of the comforter and dragging it up to their chin once again. 

Logan conceded this point. Janus did run very cold, to the point where Logan wondered if it was another spillover effect of the curse, like their scales; they were only so warm like this in the early mornings, after a full night cuddled against him under the covers. At any other time, their fingers would be almost icy, and their lips would be cool when they pressed against his. 

“If you let me get up, I can restart the fire,” Logan offered. 

Janus grumbled some more, but rolled off of him, pulling the comforter with them and retreating into it until they were hardly visible beneath it. 

Logan sat up and tucked his feet into his slippers. He rose, bent back down to press a kiss to Janus’s forehead—earning a soft sigh of content—and crossed to the fireplace, still warm and full of banked embers. It was the work of only a few moments to add some fuel and use a simple spell to properly restart the fire. He pulled a pair of breeches and a pale green shirt out of his closet, then moved to the door of the washroom and traced the glyph on the door, activating the water-warming charm he’d set up on it when he’d first moved in. He brushed his teeth and splashed water—not yet more than lukewarm, but he didn’t mind that nearly as much as Janus would—on his face, then changed quickly into the clothes. Buttoning the collar of his shirt, Logan reemerged from the washroom into the bedroom. He picked up Janus’s fluffy yellow dressing gown off the chair they’d discarded it on last night, and returned to the bed. 

“We do need to get up,” he reminded Janus. “And it’s getting warm now.” He offered the dressing gown. 

Janus made a wordless noise of complaint, but sat up and let him wrap them in the garment, pouting up at him all the while. “I hate waking up so early.” 

“It’s nearly nine,” Logan commented with a raised eyebrow, going back to the fireplace to check that the spell had lasted long enough for the wood to properly catch, then to his closet for a waistcoat in the same shade of emerald green as his breeches. 

“Yes, and?” Janus stretched languidly, sliding their toes into their fur-lined slippers as they did so. “I see absolutely no reason to not lounge about in bed all day.” 

Logan gave them an unimpressed look, buttoning his waistcoat. “Darling, we start work in an hour.” 

Janus closed their eyes, pouted, and shook their head. “That’s so _boring._ There are so many more _fun_ things we could be doing instead.” They held out their hands palms-up imperiously, waiting until Logan crossed the room and placed his hands in theirs. 

“I’ll make you tea if you get up,” he coaxed, as he did nearly every morning, smiling a little at the familiar routine. 

“Hmm, bribery.” Janus gazed up at him through their lashes, raising one of his hands to their lips. “You _do_ know just the way to my heart.” 

Logan moved his hand to cup their cheek, and they leaned into the touch, tilting their head to the side; their braid slipped off their shoulder, exposing the side of their neck. 

He blinked. “Ah, Janus?” 

“Yes, my everything?” 

He moved his other hand to the side of their neck. “You might want to wear something over this.” He passed his thumb lightly over a hickey that was both darker and higher up on their neck than he’d thought it would be last night. 

Janus’s breath hitched at the touch and their eyelashes fluttered. “Ah,” they said with a composure that was _nearly_ uncracked. “That’s probably a good idea, yes.” 

Logan held back a smirk and ran his thumb over the hickey again; Janus let out a half-stifled, breathy sigh, tipping their head back. _“Logan.”_

“Yes, dear?” he inquired innocently. 

“That is _unfairly_ hot and you know it.” 

“Oh, really?” He dropped his hands to his sides and took a half-step back. “So, tea?” 

Janus _squawked_ in indignation at the loss of his touch. Logan gave them his blandest smile just to needle them further, offering his hand to help them to their feet. 

Janus sniffed haughtily, but accepted the hand and made their way over to an armchair by the fire to curl their knees up to their chest and pout some more over the general concept of being awake. 

Logan left the bedroom to the living area and put the kettle on, pulling out Janus’s favorite cups and the breakfast tea they both liked. The kettle hadn’t yet begun to whistle by the time Janus, their hair now loosened from its braid, shuffled out from the bedroom, came up behind him, and slid their arms around him, bending down and nestling their face in the crook of his neck. 

“Did you get lonesome?” he inquired, reaching up to pat their cheek once in acknowledgement as he continued measuring tea leaves. 

Janus nodded into his neck, not relinquishing him until the kettle demanded his attention; then they hopped up to sit on the counter and kicked their heels. 

“Do you want to get dressed before breakfast arrives?” Logan inquired as he poured the water into the two cups. Breakfast came from the kitchens, delivered fresh and warm at nine-thirty or thereabouts; it would arrive before long. 

Janus sighed, adjusting their dressing gown. “Probably.” 

Logan set the now-empty kettle down beside the teacups and offered Janus a hand to help them back down to the ground. 

“I brushed my teeth,” they announced, landing lightly on their feet and not releasing his hand. 

Logan laughed and drew them close. “Did you, now?” 

“Mmhm.” Janus grinned and leaned down to press their forehead against his, wrapping their arms around his neck. “You can check. If you want.” 

Logan threaded his fingers through their hair, leaning still closer and brushing their noses together. “But I trust your word, love,” he breathed, and Janus shivered in his arms, their eyes widening noticeably on the word _trust_. “Why would I need to—”

Janus seized his face in their hands and cut him off with an enthusiastic kiss, pressing close against him and all but drinking him in. Logan smiled against their lips and relaxed into the kiss; their mouth did indeed taste fresh, and their early-morning warmth hadn’t quite worn off yet. They sighed into his mouth and pulled away, a delightfully besotted look in their eyes. 

“I love you,” he told them, for good measure, and relished the pink that sprung to their cheeks. 

“You’re a sap,” Janus mumbled, looking away and putting their hand in his. 

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, following them as they tugged him back into the bedroom. As they rummaged around in their own closet, Logan located the rest of his own outfit—mint green coat, pale yellow cravat, plain white socks, and gleaming black shoes with _just_ a bit of extra height built into the soles. He sat on the end of the bed to put on the socks and shoes, leaving the coat and cravat lying beside him. 

Janus emerged, wearing a yellow turtleneck that would safely hide the hickey on their neck from the princes; the shirt was paired with high-waisted black pants and black suspenders. They wordlessly crossed the room, sat on the bed beside him, picked up his cravat, and held it up. Logan turned up the collar of his shirt obligingly and bent his head. 

They wrapped the cravat around his neck and began tying it with gentle fingers. “I love you too,” they announced after a moment. “What’s the general plan for the day?” 

“Well, it’s going to—thank you, dear,” he broke off to say, as Janus tucked the end of the cravat into his waistcoat and turned his collar back down. He continued, “It’s going to be a rough day for Remus now that the deadline is past and things are really cemented into place. So I’ll be trying to keep the preparations out of his hair as much as I can.”

Janus nodded and kissed his cheek, helping him into the jacket. 

Logan hesitated, turning his phrasing over in his head before he went on. “We may want to try to encourage him and Roman to give each other some space.” Janus had given Logan to understand that Roman had promised to work things out with Patton and his fathers last night; with Roman thus exempt from the competition, Remus was bound to be jealous and upset—not without reason, either. 

Janus nodded. “That shouldn’t be too hard; I’m sure I can just send him out to the gardens and he’ll be gone all day.” They looked themself up and down in the mirror, eyeing their outfit critically, then went back to the closet and reemerged with a pair of black fingerless gloves made of shiny leather. “There,” they said, satisfied, just as there was a knock at the door in the next room. That would be breakfast. 

“Come in,” Logan called. 

As the kitchen staff laid out the breakfast on the table in the next room, Logan fixed his hair in the washroom; Janus, meanwhile, brushed their hair and drew it back in a loose ponytail, then hovered in the doorway of the washroom impatiently until Logan gave them a turn with the counterspace to pull out their makeup and draw on thin, sharp wings of black eyeliner. 

Logan headed out into the kitchen to sweeten the tea he’d brewed earlier; he was just in time to call a “thank you” after the people who’d brought up the breakfast as they were on their way out. He added sugar to Janus’s tea and honey to his, then brought the cups—just reaching the perfect temperature—to the table. He went back to rummage in the cupboard above the sink. 

“Need help?” Janus inquired over his shoulder. He hadn’t consciously heard them come in, but he didn’t startle. 

“I’ve got it, thank you—would you mind serving?” Logan nodded towards the table. 

“Of course.” Janus busied themself filling two plates as Logan pulled down the two jars stored on the top shelf: the hormone replacement potions he brewed in bulk every month. He measured out the potions carefully into two little cups with an easy precision born of some seven years’ practice. He’d become a wizard specifically to study gender-related magic; it was listed as his specialty on his certification degree, which he was rather proud of. He had been brewing his own hormone potion since he’d learned how, partly because it was just a little cheaper than buying prescription potions and partly as a point of pride. Once he’d gotten his official certification four years ago, he’d started making Janus’s potion for them, too. 

Theirs was very easy, based on a standard prescription formula; the finished potion was a shimmering pearly concoction containing a small dose of estrogen and a bit of jasmine flavoring to cover up the bitter flavor that potion bases tended to have. For his _own_ potion, however, Logan had altered the prescribed formula just slightly—a fairly standard testosterone dosage in a potion flavored with loganberry extract that gave it a nice purple color. The flavor was pleasant, but, although he’d never admit it, he’d chosen it more for the name than the taste. (He had gotten into _several_ arguments with Patton, when he visited Janus’s family with them on some of his days off, over whether it counted as a pun. Which, of course, was a ridiculous idea and not true in the slightest. _Wordplay_ was quite different from _puns,_ thank you very much.) He’d only implemented a few small tweaks to his original prescription, based on what Logan liked to call “research” and Janus liked to call “illegal magic experimentation done on your own body, what the actual hell, Logan, do you have _no_ sense of self-preservation at all, you _idiot?”_

This was, in Logan’s opinion, entirely unfair; he’d known exactly what the risks of the spells he’d done were, had been confident he could successfully navigate them, and, most importantly, he had been _right._ He hadn’t harmed himself, and he’d gotten what he insisted was a more accurate measurement of his own physiology and natural hormonal cycles. Based on that, he’d been able to customize the potion even better to his physical needs. The tweaks hadn’t been much, but in Logan’s opinion, they made all the difference. It was simply another advantage that home-brewed potions carried; you couldn’t get this kind of specificity in a drugstore-variety hormone potion. 

It hardly ought to count as illegal when he only ran the research spells on himself, anyway. He understood the ethical concerns of running those kinds of tests on someone else, of course, and would never do _that,_ but he’d known what he was doing! Janus was simply being overprotective. Besides, between himself and Janus, _he_ was the expert with an actual certification. The fact that he’d adamantly refused when Janus, annoyed, had challenged him to run the same tests on themself “to prove they’re so safe” meant nothing. It was simply an overabundance of caution. Nothing more. 

Now, finished with measuring out their potions’ daily doses, Logan sealed the jars and returned them to their shelf, then passed Janus their potion and took a seat at the table. Janus set a plate down in front of him; fruit, toast with his favorite jam, and scrambled eggs topped with salsa, all just how he liked them.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, accepting the fork they passed him. He tossed back his own potion, washed it down with a sip of his tea, and tucked in. He had a long day ahead of him; best to fuel up. 

***

For one single moment when he woke up, Roman was content, staring up at his painted ceiling and snuggling under the covers. The delicate, brightly colored designs on the ceiling were abstract, the sort of art that made the eye jump to seek out patterns that didn’t exist: the perfect spark for creativity and imagination. He usually daydreamed in the mornings, slipping in and out of sleep, until Janus arrived to nag him to get up and start the day. And what better to daydream of than—

_Patton._

Roman was suddenly fully awake, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted more to throw up or to cry. 

The deadline had been yesterday. And Patton had said nothing. Because he didn’t know. Because Roman hadn’t told him, and had smiled and lied to Janus’s face yesterday when he promised he’d tell Patton how he felt and go to his fathers and get excused from the competition. 

And now Roman would have to marry a stranger from some far-off land. 

He suddenly understood exactly why Remus had been so antsy and distraught all month, so irritable and set off by the smallest thing. The competition had all seemed so surreal to Roman; it had been so easy to refocus instead on his near-daily meetings with Patton that he swore were getting more and more openly flirtatious by the hour, and to shove the competition to the back of his mind and believe it wouldn’t affect him. Patton’s face had pinched up with worry whenever it came up, anyway; Roman hardly wanted to upset him discussing it. 

Guilt rolled in his stomach. Patton was going to be _crushed._ Precious, sweet Patton, who deserved nothing but joy and light in his life—he was going to try and hide it for Roman’s sake, but Roman knew better, and—oh, Janus had been right all along. 

He had been so _stupid._

Roman rolled over, pulled the nearest pillow over his head, and let the tears flow. 

He wasn’t sure how long he cried, tiny little sniffles interspersed with choked sobs, curling tighter and tighter in on himself in a vain, desperate search for comfort, but eventually the tears dried up into a sort of numb horror, his mind circling around and around through worse and worse thoughts. 

Patton was going to cry. Patton was going to hate him. Patton was going to pretend it was okay, because Patton was sweet and kind and thoughtful and so, so _good,_ but it _wouldn’t_ be okay, not even a little bit, and they’d both know it. Patton was never going to talk to him again. Patton was never going to give him flowers again. Never going to laugh at Roman’s stories, never going to light up when he thought of the perfect pun, never going to stumble over his words in an eager, laughing babble as he told Roman about his day, never going to look at Roman like he could be happy forever. 

Roman was going to marry a stranger, and Patton was going to move on and never think about him again, and Roman wasn’t sure which of those things was worse. He could feel the tears and snot starting to dry on his face, but he didn’t care enough to do anything about it. 

There was a knock on the door. “Roman?” Janus called, voice light and far too chipper. They waited a beat, then came in when he didn’t respond. “Time to get up, lover boy,” they announced, dragging the wide drapes open and flooding the room with sunlight. “I was thinking we could—Roman?” 

Roman made a wordless noise of misery, burrowing a little deeper under his covers. 

“Roman?” Janus said again, a distinct note of concern working its way into their voice. They moved over to his bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“No,” Roman mumbled. 

They sat on the bed beside him and lifted the pillow he’d hidden his head beneath. He flinched away from the too-bright morning light. “What _happened?”_ They searched his face, their eyes wide and bewildered, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it as he sat up. 

Roman wiped his nose and looked away, gut twisting with the sudden realization that he really, _really_ didn’t want to know what Janus’s reaction to finding out would be. 

“He—Patton didn’t say no, did he?” Janus said disbelievingly. “Roman?” They gripped his shoulder again, fingers clinging tight with worry. “He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Not to you. Would he?” They hesitated, mind clearly racing. “Did your _fathers—?”_ they began. 

Roman shook his head. 

“What _happened?”_ Janus pressed once more. 

Roman winced and curled in on himself. 

“Roman?” 

And there it was. A note of horror. The truth had occurred to them. 

Roman squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing it wasn’t enough. 

Janus took him by both shoulders and turned him to face them. “Roman, _what did you do?”_

Roman hung his head. His voice came out in a mumble that promptly cracked and fell to a whisper that shrank smaller and smaller as he went on. “I—I didn’t—Ididn’ttellhimaboutit.” 

Janus hesitated. “Say that again,” they said, rising anger warring with a pleading tone. Pleading with him to say anything else or tell them they’d misheard him. 

Roman bit his lip. “I—” A lump rose in his throat, and he stopped, twisting the handkerchief back and forth in his hands. 

_“Roman,”_ Janus begged, their grip tightening on his shoulders once again, a vice-like pinch through Roman’s silk pajamas. 

Roman looked up at them. They were staring desperately at him. 

He hadn’t even thought about how this would hurt them, too. How could he have been so _selfish?_

“I didn’t talk to him about it,” Roman forced through his suddenly wobbling lips. 

The stricken look on Janus’s face would have been enough to make Roman cry at the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times. As their hands slipped off his shoulders to rest slack in their lap, Roman shrank back, hiding his face in his hands, tears overwhelming him once more. 

“I’m _sorry,_ Janus,” he choked out. 

Janus got to their feet, not meeting his eyes. “Get dressed,” they said tonelessly. They turned and walked out. The door shut without so much as a slam, but Roman didn’t find that reassuring in the slightest. 

He could just hear Logan and Remus’s voices through the door, raised in concerned, questioning tones. Janus didn’t answer them, or if they did, not loud enough for Roman to make out their voice over his own sobs. 

He wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over his head and cry the day away; but Janus had told him to get up. The least he could do was oblige them. 

Roman took several deep, gasping breaths and pulled himself together shakily, swallowing the tears back until he could wipe his face and blow his nose and force himself up out of bed and across the room to his closet. 

He dressed in the first clothes that came to hand, splashed cold water on his face, tried not to cry again at the sight of his tear-splotched face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, failed, changed to a new shirt that didn’t have tears and toothpaste dribbled down the front, washed his face again, and after three tries managed to clip back his hair in a half-up style that was still too messy because normally Janus would do it for him. 

And then he sat on the bed, wringing the handkerchief Janus had given him back and forth in his hands, staring at the door. 

He ought to go out there and face the music, as it were. He knew that. 

But he’d just lost Patton. He didn’t want to lose Janus, too. And if he just stayed here, stayed in his room and pretended he wasn’t hiding from the consequences of his actions, then maybe this moment of time would freeze and he could just stay here forever and things wouldn’t get better but at least they wouldn’t get _worse,_ either. 

Roman probably didn’t deserve for things not to get worse. 

He straightened his shoulders as much as he could, took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked to the door, holding the handkerchief tight. Maybe it was about to become a memento of the last time Janus was nice to him. He hoped they’d let him keep it. 

He took another moment with his hand on the doorknob to steady himself, taking one deep breath, then another, then a third. When he still didn’t feel any more steadied, he grimaced and pushed the door open before he could change his mind, emerging into the sitting room. 

Janus was pacing in circles around the room, long legs eating up the distance at a rapid pace, hands gesturing wildly as they muttered to themself, and all their hesitancy and horror from before was gone. Now they only looked furious. Remus was at the breakfast table, munching on a stack of pancakes, worried eyes tracking Janus. Logan was seated on the sofa, back ramrod-straight, shoulders taut, expression serious, not speaking a word. The whole room felt oddly still and silent, Janus’s angry movement the only energy in the space. 

Janus froze at the noise of the door opening for just a beat, then turned on their heel to glare at Roman, crossing their arms. 

He shrank back under their gaze, half of a mind to step back into his room, lock the door, and never come out. Logan was looking back and forth between Roman and Janus, his expression hard to read beyond _definitely not good;_ Remus’s eyes were fixed on his twin. Roman spared him the briefest glance before meeting Janus’s eyes once again. At least Remus didn’t seem mad—although he certainly wasn’t anywhere near happy. 

“So,” Janus said coldly. “You decided to grace us with your presence. How kind.” 

Roman winced. “Janus—” He faltered, having no idea what on earth he could say. _I’m sorry_ didn’t really cover it, but every other option was worse. 

The slight flare of Janus’s nostrils was enough to stop Roman in his tracks, anyway. “What?” they snapped. 

Roman looked at his feet. 

“No, really, what? I’m quite curious. What earthly thought process could _possibly_ have gone through your head leading up to this? _Do_ share your enlightened decision-making prowess with the rest of us,” Janus went on, stalking closer to Roman in a way that made him feel _very_ much like he was about to be eaten alive. 

Roman wound the handkerchief around and around his fingers. “I—I don’t—I’m sorry.” 

“Clearly. But I’m afraid I kind of don’t care about that just now,” Janus informed him, grabbing his chin and making him face them. _“Explain.”_

Roman’s tensed shoulders had climbed until they were practically around his ears. But he wouldn’t refuse Janus. Not after that moment of shocked hurt earlier. “I—I didn’t tell him,” he began. 

“Mmhm.” Janus’s tone was as chilly as snow down Roman’s back. They let go of his chin and crossed their arms again, staring him down. “You made that pretty clear.”

“No, I—I didn’t tell him _anything.”_ Roman faltered at the way Janus’s lips tightened, but he forged onward. Too late to turn back now. “I didn’t—I didn’t even tell him about the—the deadline. That I _could_ have gotten out at all.” 

“Oh my _god.”_ Janus threw their hands in the air. “I didn’t think it could get worse.” 

“I thought it wouldn’t be fair to him!” Roman couldn’t help but defend, knowing he sounded hysterical and teary. “I didn’t want to pressure him, I was trying to be mindful of my power, I—”

“You make him the happiest I’ve _ever_ seen him!” Janus snapped, shoving a finger in Roman’s face. “You make him happier than any _actual_ boyfriend he’s ever had before! He’s made it _pretty fucking clear_ he was interested in you for _months_ now, so quit giving me your ‘I wasn’t sure’ bull.” Their voice rose as they went on until they were all but screaming in Roman’s face. “I thought you at least had the fucking sense to act in your _own_ goddamn self-interest when it came down to the line! But evidently I overestimated your brainpower!”

“But I—”

“No. Shut up.” Janus’s hands were shaking, their voice gone low and furious. “Patton is one of the two most important people in my life, Roman. Did you stop to think for a _fucking_ second about respecting _Patton’s_ autonomy in the situation? Think about the way that deliberately withholding _critically relevant_ information would impact his ability to make his own decisions?” 

Roman’s gut twisted. He had _not_ thought of this angle. He looked at the floor again and didn’t speak. 

“Did you ever realize that this isn’t just about you?” Janus went on. “Because it’s not just about you, Roman! Your actions have _consequences!_ You can’t just decide to play the martyr because you feel like it, or you think it’s the righteous thing to do, or whatever the hell was going through your head. You _can’t_ do that to Patton! It doesn’t make you the hero if Patton gets hurt! Do you understand that?” They looked down at the handkerchief he was still twisting in his hands and snatched it from him. “Do you understand how _monumentally stupid_ you’ve been, _Your Highness?”_

The tears that had been pooling in Roman’s eyes spilled over. “Yes,” he choked out. “I get it.” 

“Do you? Do you really?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips. 

“I _know!”_ Roman sobbed. “I get it, Janus! It’s my fault and I was stupid and now you hate me and Patton will too and it’s _my fault!_ I _know!_ I _know_ I just ruined my whole life and his too! You don’t need to explain to me why I’m stupid! Okay?” He gulped in air, the sensation in his lungs all _wrong,_ just like everything else about this moment. “I _know,”_ he repeated, voice cracking. 

Janus was silent for a moment, their expression hard. “I don’t hate you,” they said tersely. “I’m _monumentally_ angry with you, but I don’t hate you. Clear?” 

Roman didn’t know how to formulate a response to that. “You d—don’t?” he hiccuped after a pause. 

Janus made a face, shoved the handkerchief back at him, and crossed their arms. “You’re my friend,” they said as he wiped his tears away again, though their tone didn’t soften from its stony prickle at all. “I’m not throwing that away overnight. You know, unlike how _you_ decided to throw _Pat—”_

Logan cleared his throat, and Janus cut themself off almost instantly, their eyes flying to him. 

“I get the feeling you might regret whatever you’re about to say,” Logan commented mildly. 

Janus blinked. “I—you’re right. Thank you.” They looked back to Roman. “I... apologize for that last bit. It was... uncalled for.” 

Roman wasn’t convinced that anything they could say to him, no matter how much it hurt, would be uncalled for just at this moment, but he was too choked up to form words. He waved his hand vaguely. 

Janus was silent for a moment. “I… listen.” The furious edge was gone from their voice, and their breathing had steadied, but Roman thought this new, deadly serious tone might be worse; it was so much more calculated and _intentional_ than the angry shouting of a moment ago. “I care about you, Roman. But if you break my brother’s heart, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive that.” Janus turned away from him, arms wrapped tightly around themself, and Roman realized very suddenly that their shoulders were trembling. 

“Janus—” he began, reaching out instinctively but catching himself before he could lay his hand on their arm. 

Janus shook their head, still not looking at him. “I don’t want to hear it.” Their voice shook ever so slightly. 

Logan fidgeted in his seat, staring at Janus with a surprisingly distressed expression, his eyebrows knitted together, but he didn’t say anything. Remus was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, half-eaten pancakes forgotten in front of him. 

“What—” Roman began. He hesitated, not sure if it was the right thing to say, but he felt he had to say _something._ “What should I have done differently?” 

Janus spun back to face him again, face flushed and eyes filled with barely-held-back tears. _“Anything!”_ they snapped, fury coloring their voice once again. “What is so hard to comprehend about that? Would even an _ounce_ of communication with literally _anyone_ in this situation have killed you?” 

Logan got to his feet. “Janus. Roman. I do not intend to invalidate either of your feelings in this moment, but I fail to see how this is at _all_ healthy for either of you at this point.” He sighed. “Would it help to—” 

“Shut up,” Janus and Roman snapped in unison. 

Logan recoiled, looking shocked, for just a second; then his brows drew even closer together than they had already been, and his lips pressed together in a frown. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin just slightly, looking away from them. 

Janus hesitated, something like regret flashing across their face almost too quickly for Roman to read it. “I—Lo—”

“What’s going on?” Thomas’s voice said. 

Roman jumped, but he seemed to be the only one surprised by the new arrival. Looking over, he saw both his parents by the door, taking in the scene. 

“Your son is an _idiot,_ that’s all,” Janus responded to Thomas in a cold tone, fists clenching at their sides. 

“Janus, you are speaking to the _kings!”_ Logan interrupted frantically, his former anger melting away into alarm. 

“I’m _well_ aware,” Janus snapped. “If they wanted me speaking my mind to always be a _nice_ thing, they should have thought of that _before_ they raised their child to be so self-centered _and_ hell-bent on self-sacrifice!”

Nico leaned over and whispered in Thomas’s ear; he received a nod and stepped out of the room. Thomas, meanwhile, clasped his hands in front of himself, raised his eyebrows, and gave Janus and Roman his full attention. 

Janus hadn’t stopped ranting. “He can’t get it through his thick skull that being happy is _good_ or that his actions have _consequences_ and that he’s not the only one affected by them! And I don’t know how the _hell_ I’m supposed to fix it this time!” 

“You don’t have to—” Roman began.

Janus glared at him. “Yes, I _fucking_ do! And not even just for you! For Patton! Do I have any idea _how_ to fix it? No! I was totally unprepared for this eventuality! I thought you had this handled! I didn’t think you’d make it _worse,_ you _nitwit!”_

Roman winced and fell silent once more. 

“Sorry,” Thomas said, “who’s… Patton?” 

Janus froze and pinned Roman with an icy look. _“They don’t know about him?”_

Roman looked away. 

“What the _hell,_ Roman?” Janus demanded. 

“I was _shy_ about him!” Roman defended. “I was _going_ to tell them eventually!” 

“Is he some kind of game to you? Some sort of toy to string along for fun? Not even important enough to tell your own _parents_ he exists?” With each accusatory question, Janus took another step towards him, backing him towards the wall. 

“No!” Roman shook his head frantically. “No no no no no—I just—I mean, have _you_ told _your_ dads about your boyfriend? It’s embarrassing!” 

Janus flung their hands up in a bewildered, aggravated motion. “Yes, I have! Obviously! Ages ago! We’ve been together for years, I bring him home all the time!”

Roman blinked. “Wh— _years?”_

“Yes, I—” Janus inhaled. “You know what, he is none of your business! We are _talking_ about you and Patton right now, and every time I think I have a handle on how badly you’ve messed this up, it gets _worse.”_

“Alright,” Thomas interrupted. “I still don’t understand what’s happening, but let’s all take a deep breath and sit down and sort out whatever’s upset you all so. Come on. Everybody find a chair. Let’s go.” 

Janus, who was trembling again with what looked like barely-held-back angry tears, took the armchair nearest Logan, and Thomas took one across from them. Roman made his way to the sofa; Remus hopped up from the table and plastered himself to Roman’s side, protectively wrapping his arms around him. 

Roman tensed for a moment; he wanted a hug, very badly, but part of his brain insisted he ought not accept comfort when he’d upset Janus so much. That part, however, was quickly overpowered by the fact that Remus was as clingy as an octopus, and Roman was clearly getting the hug whether he wanted it or not. Roman relaxed, which wound up prompting a fresh burst of tears now that he wasn’t focused on trying to hold them back. 

Remus only held Roman tighter, to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable, resting his chin on top of Roman’s head; he didn’t even make a teasing comment about “waterworks.” 

As Roman got his tears under control once again, he realized that Remus hadn’t said _anything_ for the entire morning so far. Quiet Remus was practically unheard of, and _never_ a good sign. Roman frowned. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“Look who’s talking.” Remus thumbed at Roman’s cheek, still wet with tears—not quite wiping them away, but still a comforting gesture. “I dunno. I’ll—” He hesitated. “I’ll tell you later.” He let go of Roman, but left his hand on Roman’s shoulder, a grounding weight only a little bit sticky with the syrup he’d poured on his pancakes. 

Roman nodded and looked back up; Thomas was watching the twins closely, concern plain to read on his face. Logan was drawing back, as if he’d just been leaning forward a second ago. Janus _was_ leaning forward, with their elbows on their knees; they were raising their hand to their face to brush away the tears that had spilled down their own cheeks. If Roman hadn’t known better, he’d almost have thought the two could have been holding hands a second ago. 

As Nico came back in—Roman couldn’t be sure what he’d been doing, but he suspected it had been some sort of arrangement to clear the family’s schedules for the next hour or two—Thomas beckoned him over to sit in the chair beside him. The two clasped hands, and Thomas leaned over and murmured something Roman couldn’t make out in Nico’s ear. Nico nodded. 

“Okay.” Thomas turned back to the rest of the group and took a deep breath. “What’s going on?” 

Janus, Remus, and Roman all began talking at once. 

“I didn’t _mean_ to—”

“—thinks it’s _funny_ to go around playing with—”

“—both need to _fucking_ cool their tits—”

“—I was only _trying_ to help—”

“—can’t _believe_ he would be so—”

“—they keep yelling and yelling and it’s not even _funny—”_

“—and I’m so _so_ sorry—”

“Whoa!” interrupted Thomas. “Okay. Everyone take a breath.” He turned to Nico. “Alright. How do we want to do this?” 

“Hm.” Nico considered this for a moment. “Logan?”

“Your Majesty?” Logan inclined his head. 

“Could I get your perspective to accompany all this?” 

Remus let out a small snicker, which he quickly stifled. 

“Roman, Janus, we’re going to hear each of you out,” Nico clarified. “I just want a quick rundown of what’s happening first, and it seems like you’re both feeling... a little distressed for that right now.” 

Janus gave a small, terse nod, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

Logan took a deep breath, clearly weighing his choice of words. “Well. I am not directly privy to all the details, of course, and that should be kept in mind. But my understanding is, roughly, as follows. Roman has—actually, hold on. Roman, may I speak freely on this matter?” 

Roman blinked. “I—yeah.” There was no point now in trying to wait until introducing Patton to his fathers could be a joyful, celebratory moment. 

Logan nodded once. “Thank you.” He turned back to the kings. “To my understanding, Roman has been, to some extent, romancing Janus’s brother Patton, who works in the palace gardens, for some five months now.” 

“But—” Roman began. Logan was _oversimplifying!_

“Roman,” Nico said gently, holding up a hand, still looking at Logan. “Wait your turn, son.” 

Roman bit his lip and fell silent. 

Logan nodded and continued. “Each of them has demonstrated extreme reluctance to openly discuss their feelings with one another for reasons unknown to me, to the point where… well. Where yesterday came and went without either of them doing anything to cement their relationship and remove Roman from the competition. Janus seems quite upset by this, I believe mostly out of concern for Patton’s feelings—” 

“He _can’t_ just—” Janus burst out. 

Nico opened his mouth, but Logan beat him to it. “Janus,” Logan said gently, _much_ more gently than Roman usually heard him speak to them. “I am in no way attempting to belittle you, or your brother, or your relationship to him, or the consequences Roman’s actions will bring, or the way you or Patton feel about this. I merely intend to give the kings a brief rundown of the concrete events that have taken place so they are better equipped to understand. Alright?” 

Janus held Logan’s gaze, something hard in their expression trembling and melting away, leaving them with a startlingly vulnerable look in their eyes. “Alright,” they whispered, closing their eyes. 

Logan nodded and turned back to the kings. “Janus had been under the impression that Roman and Patton intended to make their relationship official yesterday, but that did not actually occur, I believe partly because Patton was unaware that leaving the competition was an option for Roman at all. This morning, after we learned what took place, we sent for Your Majesties. While we waited, Roman and Janus proceeded to participate in a screaming match, mostly in the form of Janus lashing out and berating Roman about his treatment of their brother, and Roman accepting it unquestioningly in what seemed to me to be a concerning form of emotional self-flagellation. This lasted until Your Majesties arrived.” He paused, clasping his hands, then nodded to himself. “I believe that is all.” 

“Wait, _what?”_ Janus said, blinking. They stared at Roman. “You were _what?”_

Roman squirmed uncomfortably under the sudden attention. “You were right,” he mumbled. “I messed up. It made sense to let you say whatever.” 

“What—like, using me as a way to _punish_ yourself?” Janus, for some reason, seemed distressed by this, their voice pitching high. 

Roman just shrugged. 

_“Roman!”_ Janus snapped. 

Roman fidgeted with the handkerchief, not meeting their eyes. “What?” 

They spluttered for a moment. “You can’t _do_ that!” 

He frowned. “Why not?” 

“I— _what do you mean, why not?_ It’s shitty, that’s why not!” 

“But—” Roman began.

“Okay,” Thomas interrupted again. “Break time. Janus is right, that’s _not_ healthy, Roman, but we can discuss that in detail a little later.” He looked at his husband. “I think we can spare a few hours, don’t you? This does seem like a family emergency.” 

Nico nodded. “I was thinking the very same myself. You and I are already free until at least noon, and I think we can potentially extend that by another hour or two if we need.” 

“Alright.” Thomas looked back to the younger four, his eyes settling on Janus. “Janus, it seems pretty clear that the hurts between you and Roman went both ways. I want to make sure we allow you to process however works best for you. Would you like to stick around while we all work through what just happened, or would you like to take the day off and deal with your emotions yourself for today?” 

“Can Patton have the day off too?” Janus asked immediately. 

“You said he works in the gardens? Of course he can,” Nico agreed. “I’m sure we have plenty of gardeners, that should be fine.” 

Janus didn’t hesitate. “I want to go home, then.” 

Nico nodded. “Go ahead. We can discuss what happened between you and Roman privately with you tomorrow and help you work out a solution, alright?” 

Janus was on their feet and moving before Nico even finished speaking. “Yes, fine, absolutely,” they tossed over their shoulder, heading for the door. 

“Janus,” Thomas called. “Make sure you’re taking the time to care for yourself, too.” 

“Mmhm, of course.” Janus didn’t sound particularly sincere. 

“Janus?” Roman worked up the courage to say. 

Janus froze in their tracks, not turning. _“What?”_ Their voice was much chillier than it had been speaking to his fathers.

“Can—can you tell him I’m really sorry?” Roman’s voice dwindled smaller. 

Janus sighed. Their shoulders slumped slightly. “...Maybe.” They walked out the door and shut it behind them. 

Logan stared after Janus, then glanced at Remus, then Roman, clearly struggling with something; he looked beseechingly at the kings. 

Nico smiled slightly. “Why don’t you take the day off, as well, Logan?” 

“Thank you, sire.” Logan practically bolted from the room. _“Janus!”_

There was silence for a few seconds after Logan’s departure; Thomas and Nico seemed to be having a conversation with only their eyes. 

“Alright,” Thomas said, offering Nico his hand as both men moved to the couch by their sons, “let’s talk about it.” 

***

Janus was halfway back to their and Logan’s rooms by the time Logan caught up with them. He wordlessly offered them his hand, and they clung to him as they walked the rest of the way back to the suite. 

The moment the door was closed behind them, Janus crumpled to their knees, too worked up to even properly cry; Logan sank down beside them and drew them close. 

They hid their face in his shoulder, clinging to him with all their strength. “I thought it was going to be fine!” they burst out after a minute. 

“I know.” Logan’s arms were firm around them. “I know, dear.” 

“Patton doesn’t even _know,”_ they went on. “How am I supposed to break it to him?” 

“I would suggest that his favorite tea be involved,” Logan responded reasonably, “but I also get the feeling you meant that rhetorically.” 

Janus chuckled in spite of themself, taking a deep breath. They looked up, making sure they had Logan’s attention. “I’m sorry I told you to shut up earlier,” they said. “I know you hate that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.” 

Logan hesitated. “Emotions were running high. I certainly understand doing something in the moment that I wouldn’t choose in a more rational mindset.” He glanced away. “I… I admit that it did… sting. But I know you didn’t intend it maliciously.” He looked back, meeting their eyes once again. “I forgive you, dearest.” 

“I love you,” Janus told him, only stumbling a little over the words. At a better time, the look of startlement on Logan’s face at them saying it first would be absolutely delectable; they stored that information away to process at a later date. 

“I love you too,” he responded, cupping their cheek in his hand. “What do you need before you go to pick up Patton?” 

“My wallet,” Janus said. 

Logan’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you have that on you?” 

“No, I left it in the dresser, I wanted to wear tight pants and putting things in my pockets ruins the look.” 

“Wh—Janus, we’re supposed to carry our IDs on ourselves at all times when we’re on duty!” 

“Nobody ever asks for my ID.” Janus waved at their scales. “They just recognize me and understand that I have a higher level of clearance than they could ever dream of.” 

“Dearest, that’s _illegal,_ you can’t just—”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ appreciate the way I look in these?” Janus challenged, smirking. Flirting and teasing, after all, was so much easier than confronting the emotions the last hour had stirred up. 

Logan paused, clearly torn. “I… did not say that. At all. And that’s actually irrelevant to my point.” 

Janus pursed their lips. “Darling, I need you to understand what’s more important: a silly little law that nobody cares about anyway, or me looking hot?” 

“I—what? _Clearly_ the law that is designed to protect our safety and that of the royal family, Janus!” Logan made a bewildered gesture. 

“Interesting.” Janus raised a sly eyebrow. “So there are _other_ laws you’d be willing to rank below my appearance in terms of importance?” 

_“Dear,”_ Logan said helplessly. 

Janus relented. “I’m teasing. Don’t worry.” 

Logan nodded. “Alright. You need your wallet. Anything else? Keys? Hat? Cardigan?” 

“All of those, yes. And that should be everything.” Janus leaned their head on Logan’s shoulder, reluctant to leave his arms. 

He cradled them close. “Remember how a few days ago you told me I didn’t need to work so hard?” he asked. 

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Yes, and I remember exactly what you answered, too, so if you’re about to turn that on me, I want you to know that you’re being _very_ hypocritical. Also that I’ll be incredibly insulted that you would ever imply I would _work,_ let alone _hard_ or _on purpose.”_

Logan blinked several times. “You—we literally have a live-in job, what are you talking about?”

“Irrelevant.” Janus waved their hand. “Continue.” 

Logan was still hung up on his confusion. “You _voluntarily_ spend a decent amount of your free time behind the counter in your fathers’ bakery! What do you _mean,_ you don’t work?” 

“No, I—oh, nevermind. It’s about maintaining my _reputation_ as a terribly high-maintenance spoiled little piece of eye candy, love, not about what I actually do. What did you want to say?” 

“I— _what?”_ Logan said helplessly. “Who thinks that of you?” 

Janus sighed, trying not to laugh. “Nobody. I just like it as an idea. You were saying something about me working too hard, probably?” 

“Oh.” Logan nodded, clearly refocusing. “Yes, exactly. It isn’t your job to tend to every emotional need of the people you love, you know.” 

“Hmm, I don’t like the sound of that.” Janus wrinkled their nose. “What if instead I pour all my energy into manipulating every situation to protect them from even the slightest harm, and then have a total breakdown when something I can’t control happens?” They spoke lightheartedly, jokingly, sounding a little sarcastic, knowing that Logan would parse the barely-hidden vulnerability out of the sentence anyway. 

Logan put his hand on their arm, looking them in the eyes. “Roman and Patton are both adults. They can handle themselves. Even through rough patches. It’s not your responsibility to protect them from everything.” 

Janus whined a little, leaned forward, and pressed their face into Logan’s neck for comfort, breathing in the scent of him and feeling his warm skin against their cheek. “But I _want_ to.” 

He stroked their hair. “I know. And, as you yourself just said, if you pour all of your energy into doing so to such a great extent, you then break down when you run into the inevitable failure.” 

Janus pouted. “Hey, you can’t use my own words against me, that’s illegal.” 

“Like not bringing your ID to work is illegal?” Logan said, and Janus didn’t need to see his face to know the way he was raising his eyebrow. 

“You’re terrible,” Janus told him, trying not to smile. 

“I love you, too,” Logan responded, shifting and offering them his hand as he got to his feet. “If you want to catch the next trolley into town, you’ll need to get going to pick up Patton soon.” 

Janus nodded and leaned in to press their cheek against his in something that wasn’t quite a kiss but carried the same energy. “You don’t mind staying behind?” they inquired. 

Logan hummed thoughtfully. “Well. I am loath to leave you in such a state of distress, so in that sense, yes, I mind very much. But this seems like an incredibly personal family matter, and I doubt I am close enough to Patton for my presence not to feel like an intrusion to him.” 

Janus wrinkled their nose, but didn’t say anything. Logan was probably correct, even if Patton would never say so aloud. 

“I will be fine,” Logan assured them. “I’ve been meaning to brew some more sleeping draughts for the palace stock, anyway, you know how long they have to sit before they’re fit for use.” He squeezed their hand and nudged them towards the bedroom. “Go on, dear. Gather your things.” 

Janus located their wallet and keys; then a black sunhat with a broad, round brim, because they burned easily; then a long, drapey black cardigan, because they always got cold on the trolley with its open windows. 

“I’ll see you later,” Logan told them by the door, holding both their hands in his own. “Good luck. I love you. Remember that it’s not your responsibility to fix everything.” 

Janus leaned down to kiss him goodbye. “I love you too,” they whispered. In a more normal voice, they added, “I’ll try and be back tonight.” 

Logan nodded, and they left him in the doorway, looking after them as they started towards the garden in search of Patton. 

It might not be Janus’s _responsibility_ to fix everything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to _try,_ anyway. All they had to do was figure out _how._

**Author's Note:**

> i thrive on kudos and comments <3 
> 
> come hang out with me on tumblr @ iclaimedtobethebetterbard and tiktok @ iclaimed2bethebetterbard !


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